Author: Still Loved...Still Missed

A direct person. An official. A story lover at heart. An occasional story teller. Sentimental, still practical. I should be ashamed that the two other blogs I owned "died" because of my indolence. I am sincerely thinking to revive my writing, however simple they are regarding the literary value. I earnestly desire to keep this blog alive. Hearty cheers to all!

Healing

woman sitting near wooden table

{Pic: Louis Hansel @shotsoflouis }

The pandemic clutched onto her like a warm, ardent lover.

Her blooming pencils filled with scented basil seeds tried to blow away the grimness of the room.

Soil filled broken vases near the window pane took many days to show the tiny green flags.

Ah, SPROUTS…..!

She recovered.

___________________________

©Mridula 2020

48 words

 

Amusements

 

three line tales, week 218: a woman drinking coffee with laptop and guitar{Photo by Elijah O’Donnell via Unsplash}

 

To be precise, it was her 27th attempt and 13th coffee in a row.

The app, her brainchild, has already succeeded in rooting.

Who told hacking can’t be a fairer sex’s affinity?

_________________________________

Photo Prompt from Three Line Tales, Week 218

Forever

​     two decorative chairs on grass field near body of water

{Pic courtesy: Jeremy Wong Weddings}

The blue leather journal with digital password lock trembled slightly in the wrinkled hands of the old man. Antony had tried at least a hundred combinations to crack the password. If Robbie, his good old friend and the office custodian of that small town library was alive he would never have attempted it. Anyway, he has passed away weeks back, leaving the job and the journal to Antony.

Antony sat near the window, his six year old grandson was watching the cartoon with a grumpy face. The birds were chirping outside, the spring was reminding all nature to come back to life.

Antony turned the pages of the journal.

“I am an idiot. I can’t realize the ins and outs of life.
My mind flies like a butterfly that has lost its senses and directions. And it is….euphoric!”

 

“When I entered this old library years back, I never had expected to have a gust of heavenly joy like this…like you…Mila…!! I remember, you were reading, sitting near to that damaged window. Why did you select that spot? I love you… forever…..Mila! Inexplicably, incomprehensibly, inexcusably, irrevocably.. all at the same time.”

Antony, the regular visitor of the library since decades, tried hard to recall every visitor’s name. He didn’t even spare the males and their families. Still, none named Mila hit his memory. Was Robbie in love with an imaginary woman?

“The corridors are old but the sunshine is new,
Day or night your figure is knocking my eyelids,
My life is changing bit by bit…”


“The windows of dreams take away my sleep.
My life suddenly seems fresh and new.
I know it is because of you
Let me hide this treasure deep in my heart forever…”

Never in his life had Antony seen such a handwritten note full of ‘calligraphed’ love. Never in his life had he thought his bosom friend was capable of this much love.

Antony looked outside. Should he keep the journal or take it to the shredder?

As he returned from the shredder, his grumpy grandson demanded him to read a story.

​He read a random page in some book.

“Alice : How long is forever ?


White Rabbit : Sometimes, just one second.”

Antony’s heart sunk into emptiness.

________________________________________________

©Mridula 2020

Being peeved

Image : Iqbal Nuril Anwar on Pixabay}

(Two mandatory prompts-A picture prompt (given above) and an emotion-Anger)

At that altitude, his eyes became blind to the splendid sights of sunrise. His sweat-drenched body struggled to make the next step. Spending the last ounce of energyhe gasped for breath. As the chilly wind hit him, he shivered like the last leaf of autumn. 

Still, he felt that the goal was finally within his reach.

A faint echo from the line of the low mountains shocked him.
He strained his neck upwards to look above.

She has reached the top before him. 

He woke up to the 5 am alarm call only to throw it against the free-standing wall.

_____________________________

[YeahWrite’s Weekly Writing Challenge #448]

Better late than never

Source: http://mrg.bz/n22FGA

 

The thing he hailed as love started corroding her, from inside out.
Once a quick decision maker was presently a powerless darling.
She had to consult him for everything, even to state if it was day or night.
Her glow faded away with her smartness.

Luckily, it was not too late when she learned to differentiate love from thralldom.
By making a dangerous but successful flee, she allowed him to rust in pieces.

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{Sunday Photo Fiction-July 7  2019}

A poem from my book “STILL LOVED STILL MISSED”

LOVE UNDER THE LAVENDER TREE

Jacaranda-Tree-450w

{Pic: imagine-mexico.com}

“Under the lavender tree we stood,

A wrinkled face you looked, mine.

Your heart got hooked, it seemed;

When were you born?‖ you asked.

 

I, then, took a travel down my

Memory lane; re-lived the day,

When I was the chubby girl, saw you first

Under the same lavender tree.

 

Briskly you walked; rarely you smiled

Even to your few fellow friends.

And, I was invisible to your eyes;

A shadow masked you, I guess.

 

A cheery spring sent me in,

To your eyes (and to your heart?)

Under the same lavender tree

I stood smiling, my mind at cloud nine.

 

…………………………………………………………………

Now, we are worn and torn,

But still, you ask when I was born.

Know and note, my beloved, the day

I saw you, was the day I was born. ”

© Mridula

To read the whole poem and other tiny tales, buy STILL LOVED STILL MISSED from any source below:

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