wind.

Sometimes I like to think about you
when I’m on my own like this:
looking at the sun and
a wind is blowing.
I imagine as the wind rustles through the leaves,
heavier and faster, and in between my fingers—
I imagine it carries my touch to you.
Wherever you are.
And it touches you as gently as it is touching me,
and I hope you imagine you’re touching me too.

Old Digha, West Bengal, India.
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