They sit opposite me. Entwined. Morsels of cheesecake, saliva and love are exchanged.
She notices my stare. And refuses her lover’s next offering.
Twenty years ago it was I who wilted under an ageing dowager’s disapproval. I feel smug as the girl turns crimson. But deep down inside gurgles the sorrow of an ageing dowager.
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4 comments:
aiyoo rama...at the ripe age of 6 or 7?! the poor aged dowager!
Wow! What an impressive way to express something most of us soon-to-be-fossils types feel. Lurrrrved the post!
ah! age that stealthily elbows its way in, and sweet memories of youth..nicely captured!
Naan kaarthala potta comment-a kaanum :(
To repeat myself from this morning, I was echoing alpha thoughts... ageing dowager? aiyo raama
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