polar-opposites

i wonder how seldom i write about love, about the butterflies in my stomach, who write poems in your name, every specific detail like they sing research papers not songs, like the amount of light your iris scatters, the perfect proportion of melanin and sunsets that make your eyes leak burnt brown- the shade of furniture inside my vintage household, did i ever manage to tell you that you smell like home? you are old-fashioned i sometimes complain, you laugh and remind me of how i've memorized daffodils, like a boy who solves the rubik's cube in twenty seconds, and how i take more than twenty seconds to decipher internet slang, how i prefer letters more than memes, poems more than another mention in your story, a surprise hug more than a fancy dine. i tell you, you can't google your way out of love, can you? my english-fed tongue loves the urdu you hide under the grey bags of your eyes, love is supposed to be urdu you know, i understand ek sau solah chand ki raatein more than sonnets, i wish i could write about you the way he does, i wish i could unlearn the language the world speaks, i wish i could turn you into gulzar's poetry instead of mine some day, i think i'd love you more that way. i write about how different we are, you - a traffic sick street in Mumbai, me - a lazy sunday on the couch. you - an exponential form trying to search for infinity, me - a story that keeps running just to reach the end. i write about a lot of things and i make a list on how we are assam-and-gujarat apart, you point out how we still belong to the same soil like every patch of flora and fauna and land in between converges into a bridge made up of our similarities, how the universe is huge but blind about distances, because every distance can be covered in seconds if travelled by light.