random, rustic, brown,
like warm wood floors
and twilight tea,
the kind that settle softly in the soul.
Moments of stillness,
sitting and wondering
what if I had turned left,
chose differently,
would life have been lighter?
A strange breakfast,
jam and cream on paratha,
makes peace with the choices
I carry like stones.
Books, found randomly,
wrapped in the smell of chocolate
stirs something old and soft,
a sepia-tinted joy
I thought I lost.
A cookie shake,
sweet as a secret,
melts the weight of days
into nothingness
just sweetness,
then silence.
A spontaneous plan
with someone I love
erases the taste
of all the sour yesterdays.
A difficult drama on screen
pulls me out of my own
its fiction,
a balm for real-life bruises.
And the fairy lights
tiny suns in jars
each one a quiet blessing
sparked by the very choices
I doubted most.
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