The Fiction Of Yesterday

"Yes, yes even to the prostitutes wearing miniskirt and tight stockings during the uncomfortable silence in the room of Thamel."

Your warm shoulders which I once called home is an empty space that is running out of air. The funny laugh in the non funny jokes, the sharing of the funniest tweets tomorrow on the first hour, the songs that made their way from your mobile to mine directly into the playlist.

These all now sound like a third class fiction playing in a dusty black and white tv in a stranger's world.

Now?

Now, I tell my stories to the drunkards sleeping on the side of the broken sewage pipelines in the narrow road beside the crowded house.

To the strangers in the micro with the hint of cheap momo in their breath and the shirt dipped in the sweat which somehow smells like sulphur.

Yes, yes even to the prostitutes wearing miniskirt and tight stockings during the uncomfortable silence in the room of Thamel.

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