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The Lost Pleasure of Letter Writing

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My handwriting was rather good during school days or so I was told then. I mean few teachers and friends used to either love me too much or I heard them wron...
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Nairobi · East Africa

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Two worlds. One we inhabit. The other we imagine.

She dreams of an idyllic home, small and cosy, with a beautiful garden. A bookshelf with stacks of books, old ones with smells of the past, new ones with happy promises. The early morning golden hue washes her garden, as she takes in a new day, happy, while setting foot in her green backyard, her two furry babies at her side. Her family is fast asleep, the house is silent, as she discovers the many wonders of a new day.

In such lazy hours of nothingness, I lie suspended in my imagined time zone, I become her. Do you too?

And I realise yet again. There are but two worlds. One we inhabit. The other we imagine.

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