my blue babe

Really, I am left mesmerised every time. Oh, she's bluer than a first imagined her to be. So, so much more bluer. Halcyon wings would shy away at her blueness. Indigo crops and the sky would be left in shame.

A blue Kurti with slightly geometric patterns. Wondrous, simply wondrous. My hand clashes onto her shoulder and waist in the crowded metro - the cloth and the wearer feels more like home than any other stimuli my sensory devices have (will) ever received. Hor ki mangna mai rab kolon ni? (What more am I to ask from God)

Faded blue jeans too. Oversized and bootcut, they hide her already tiny sneakers. I always had baby fever, and she's introduced a lively blue tone to it. Baby Blue, fever, yes.

She carries around a blue bag too. Her camera, her bottle, and accessories. The way I experience brief pauses when I speak to her (Oh, how lost I am); so many commas in my speech, you'd think I were a collection of congeries.

She wears these brilliant silver jhumkas, part hidden by her coiled sooty curly hair. A few strands stick out of the bunch, and I tuck them behind her ear. She blushes and I smile. She plays with my hair (shockingly so); I blush, she laughs. Her specs are like that of an owl, and have me spellbound, almost. Ravenclaw, most definitely. And then comes a moment encompassing absolutely no civic sense. An uncle who'd been walking towards our direction for long has finally overtaken us. I stretch out my hand, and grab onto her fingers. They intertwine. My mind is a mess, and somehow the clearest it has (will) ever been. I pull her closer, and we immediately materialise into our original standings, seeing a passerby. But, wow. Wondrous was that moment. Wonderful, it was as if magic was brought to life. God made me question my faith in Him throughout 2025 and 2026, and He has now shown me his most perfect, or rather the most intentional creation. So wondrously detailed for my love, cherry picked, almost, to suit what my mind and heart yearned. It is as if God read what I wrote and brought to life the muse that was not supposed to be. But oh, yes. Chance could never birth a phenomenon as such.

Jigsaw. The final missing piece in the portrait that is her was the flowers. 2 yellows, never alone, and a pink and white to keep them good company. How, how wondrous, oh.