I-can't-bear-this-anymore grumbles is passé. I don’t want to sound clichéd and say that I miss you every time my heart pumps a beat. But however, in as many ways the feeling can be stressed, so I shout it now. I highlight it with colors and strain it with psychedelic letters. And I feel exactly this way. Grown ups don’t really cry over missed meetings. Rather they sniff in washed floral handkerchiefs till their eyes run dry. I refused to grow up after the 10 summers I lived. My washroom often blinks smiles at its chances of sadism while I’m in there. Moist eyed. Cherry red nose. I still curl up with my favorite teddy and smile demurely swallowing tears over a message that’s written with feelings running through my veins. “Porasuna chere dili ekdum-e???” ma screams after every 10 seconds. Got over shrieks as well. I'll wait till the leftovers of love completely washes away. And we’ll start afresh. As if there is nothing that awaits us. Nothing that waited before. Have a fairy tale ending somewhere down the middle. And nothing thereafter. Just you and me. And love stuck in between.