She wants me to write about happy things, for now it's Christmas.
Like how a Koala continues to cling to its designated eucalyptus,
Like a long awaited Spring finally blooming in an array of Hibiscus,
Like the cries of hungry children after receiving something deliciously nutritious,
Like finding matches according to the light of your preferences at the gym, for the sake of you "fitness",
Like the genuine smile of the most holy and innocent of infants,
Like a simple bottle of jack and a pack of stogies, for a flock of delinquents,
Like the day that we shout HUZZAH for we can now rest since we have found the cure for all worldly illnesses, if only such days may come true.
But how can I? when every time my ink slips, yours would splotch and then leave without a trace.
How can i? When love can sometimes feels like a game of poker and i have to admit that you - as usual - have caught all of the 'A's.
(This is where Raunala Maruti goes whenever she needs to rhyme her homework and recent baggages away in order to - once again - fully function in society.)
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