Dear Diary, by Chaitali Gawade
I found you in a glitzy mall that stacks goodies from all edges of the earth. My hands roamed over your skin, exploring the tiny ridges and upward curves. You opened to the smell and color of pale summers. In that instant I immersed in you, made you mine.
I tell you all my secrets, my fantasies, dreams, longings, miseries and all sorts of crap. You entertain me, like a patient lover, taking your time. I wonder what form you were, what journey’s you’ve traveled before you became encased in red.
We have been having an affair for quiet a while now and yet your screaming red leather still excites me. I find myself drooling over your musky scent at odd times of the day. When I’m with you all the lines blur and blend in with you to form a perfect red square, threading moments together. My pen pours over you in erratic, jerky movements. You absorb it all with thirsty gulps.
Today is our last encounter as I fill your last page. I might return to you again and again over the coming days but it will always be over past interactions. It will never be the meeting of a blank page that is eager for my touch. It’s time for me to move on to a new diary, a new page that smells of a new season.
Chaitali Gawade is a content writer for an online publishing house by day. At night, she is an aspiring writer fueled by tea and coffee.
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Tags: affairs, Chaitali Gawade, diary