Orange Juice

Dear Boy,

Hi. We haven't spoken in a while, because you replied a ':P' to my 'LOL :D' and I didn't know what to text back. Because you are a grownup man, you don't do the emoji talks. You don't now, do you? *I still don't think you are grownup enough, you are 25, that's all*  Emoji talk is when we send each other random emojis, and then there is a little story right there. We should do it sometime, okay? Because even after five years when you turn 30, or ten years after that and you turn 40, you'll still be my boy. Anyway, today I was running a few errands and whilst I waited for my turn at the kiosk at my library, guess whom I spotted in the romance section? Yes, you. Of all people, I found you. In all the sports and politics and Indian philosophy sections, you were in my section, clutching my very favorite book to your heart. 

That is when I knew, I wanted to be the book. No, not because then you'll hold me close to your chest while your hand caresses other books, no no no. Because I want to be the alphabet that gets all the attention of your busy brain when the whole world is asleep tonight. I want to be the flavor of your cigarette's smoke rings that flirt with the pages. I want to be the way your jean just hangs there, a little above your hips when you take your shirt off tonight, every night.I want to be the moonlight from the creak in your window pane. I want to be the midnight breeze. When you feel a little too cold, I want to be the small shiver that runs down your spine. I want to be the loose thread of your blanket that tickles your chest. I don't want to be the blanket. You know why? Because blanket is a blanket, nobody feels a thing for it, every blanket is the same. What makes the blanket home is the loose thread that feathers the cheek, that feathered feel. I want to be the digital time stamp on your mobile phone. When you wake up at 3 36 AM for a sip of water, I know you'll look at the time. I want to be your 3 37 AM too, because you'll not register the 3 36 AM and look at the screen, again. I want to be your first stretch when you open your eyes the next morning. No wait, I want to be the morning breeze now. Also the flutter of the curtain to your window pane. And the whistle of your milk cooker in your kitchen. I don't want to be your alarm, I want to be the snooze bar. I want to be your pillow cover. I know you love snoozing the alarm and flipping around for that extra five minutes of sleep. I want to be the one you nuzzle your face into, the pillow cover. I want to be the flip cap of your shower gel. I know you meddle with it every morning, sleepyhead. Oh and I want to be the unruliness of your hair that you discipline every morning, and then ruffle again after exactly three minutes. Who likes a champu, anyway. I want to be your morning cup of coffee's warmth. And then your bike's key. I know, these aren't the biggest parts of your everyday, but if you miss them and mess them up, you'll have a bad day. I want to be your speedometer. And the curve of your bike's petrol tank. Have I told you I love the way you rest an elbow on top of that curve and with your aviators on, whistle softly while waiting for me to walk up to you? I want to be whistle on your lips. I want to be the impatient taps of your foot whilst you wait. I want to be the reason behind your lopsided smiles. I want to be your lopsided smile. I don't want to be the beeping notification on your phone, I don't want to beg for your attention like that. I want to be the vibration mode on, the one that will, for a split second, jolt you and remind you of my existence. I want to be the ruggedness of your jean when you walk in late for our evening coffee date. I want to be the silly apology for you running so late. I want to be the extra muffin for an apology. I want to be the familiar cologne that engulfs you, and later engulfs me when you hold me a little too close all evening. I don't want to be your sugar cube, I want to be the chilli flakes you generously top up your pizza with. I want to be the your all time favorite corner at the coffee house. I don't want to be your diet coke, I want to be your whey protein. I want to be your lone nights. The nights when you gulp down sip after sip of Old Monk. I want to be your whiskey, too many girls want to be your shot of tequila anyway. I want to be the hum of the your favorite song. The song you absentmindedly hum while you down your Old Monk and stare out of the pub's balcony, looking at the pouring traffic. I want to be the lean of your frame against the parapet. I want to be your one hundred thoughts when you start getting drunk. I want to be the twinkle of your eye when you talk a little too much, a talk of all the one hundred thoughts. I want to be the numbness of your tongue when you are wasted. I want to be quietness of your beer next. I want to be your hangover. And also the big bottle of ice cold water and Advil and orange juice the next morning. Okay no, I can't be both. I will be your Advil and orange juice :)

Or may be, I'll make your orange juice.

I want to be your need, just the way wanting you is mine. I want to be your girl, boy. 

Until next time,

Me

PS: I didn't want to wave at you in the library, I wanted to be the book shelf there, your intense hazel gaze running from one point to the other, I wanted to be the book shelf, right then. 

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PS: Hope you like it! :) Inspired from a two line quote I read somewhere I few days back.
PPS: Image is not mine - source