Tell Me, Darling

Posted on by larisashrestha

Tell me, darling
How does love feel like these days?
Like dizziness when twirling with hands held tight
Like blurriness in windows splattered with rain
Tell me, darling
Does he tell you that you’re beautiful?
During late night phone calls in smothered voices
Over arguments on who hangs up at first
In those “Good morning, sunshine!” texts
Tell me, darling
Does he secretly slip his hand inside of yours when you’re not even watching?
Hands at your nape held firm
The back of his palms on your cheeks
Strands tucked behind your ears
Tell me, darling
Does he take you to the rooftop to watch the setting sun together?
Watches fondly as the evening breeze brushes past your auburn curls
The notes resonate deep in your chest while he plucks his guitar
And sings- “You are the one” while gazing deep into your eyes
Tell me, darling
Does he affectionately run his fingers over your knuckles?
Blows air to warm your hands on wintry days
Tell me, darling
Does he make you promises of always staying by your side?
Tells you how much he misses you if he doesn’t see you even for a day
Asks you how your day was every night before you go to bed
Tell me, darling
Does he surprise you on your birthday?
Buys you yellow tulips on days you feel low
Leaves you secret notes and sonnets inside your textbooks
Tell me, darling
Do you stop to admire the art on his body?
The dragon slithering down his broad arms
The tongues of fire on his chest
Tell me, darling
How does love bloom in between “I care for you” and “I was worried about you”?
During secret glances, stolen kisses, and intentional hand brushes
Tell me, darling
Does fire shoot up your arms when his fingertips glide across your skin?
Tell me, darling
How does love feel like now that you’ve discovered yourself in someone else’s eyes?
Now that you write his name on sand and send him shots of it
Tell me, darling
Are you happy now?

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Published by larisashrestha

If there is one word that describes Larisa (Please insert middle name) Shrestha the best, it’d definitely be awkward. She will trip over her own legs, spill her coffee and run into bus stop signs. Conversations with her don’t go beyond a handful of sentences, she will tell you jokes that are unfunny and bore you with facts. Her awkwardness is contagious and she will make you just as awkward as she is. Self-Destructing is her middle name. She lives in a world that is three parts nonsense and one part broken. The once whitewashed walls are a decaying yellow and the blue carpet is frayed, not very guest-friendly. And despite this, it is still the most beautiful thing she has ever come to know.