It's like a cool waft of breeze has blown into my life... a breeze that perfumes my every waking and sleeping hour. A perfumed cool draft that wakes me up, puts me to sleep, holds me close when I feel unloved, embraces me in my weakness and teases me silly.
The way it fondles me, when I am slowly swirling into those self-indulging throes of ecstasy, the way it makes me want to cry and laugh as it whispers sweet nothings into my ear, the raspy vibrations that it streams through me, leaving me begging for more, and satiated at the least — this is my breeze of life.
Gently caressing me, reminding me of the fruity fragrances born in the land of spices, embalmed exquisitely with soft pleasant notes of sandal, burning camphor and jasmine, woven into all the lightness of the touch of a cloud or a feather — it makes me want to adorn myself, beautify my existence and believe in myself.
Is this what they call love — my breeze, my cool draft, my breath?
Or is this just you?
© Saina Jayapal