If you could make a world of your own, a life of your own, what would you change, if you could change anything?
This is what I am thinking. Small house, barley beer, lots of friends, just enough on the table for everyone, barely, ends stretched and made to meet with love and smiles. Snotty nosed children, with pink faces burtsing with laughter and wonder. And you and me. Exchanging glances. Knowing that you know that i know that you know, ad infinitum, that this is what and where and when. (The way we do when we see those nice mommies and daddies)
Outside, the rain is spitting. Somehow, here it doesnt seem as bad as the spitting I always complained about in my letters from Pune and Bristol. So you laugh at me, because you always know, dont you?
The sky has bent down low to share a joke with the earth. The mountains (and I cant get over how amazed you are with the snow) stand tall and bit indifferent. Fascinatingly stoic.
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