Each morning I wake up and walk into a furnace which is my home.
Boiling under fans alone, in the morning when it's still in the process of getting cleaned I look for a place to be, where I could sit without getting disturbed and marinate in my morning misery.
Beads of sweat collect into thin waterfalls streaming down from behind my ears, my cleavage is a reservoir of perspiration, my head akin Sunderbans full of mangrove hair rooted under a thin layer of sweat and I hate this moment more than most.
I keep forgetting the humidity of my life which now seems distant and so far away from me.
My discontentment was much like it is now today and perhaps these are the seasons I am unable to comprehend.
I begin to melt reminiscing the two lives I am now alive in and hope for a better day each day without trying to worry of what it will be soon.
Rains, will you come to greet us ?
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