its interesting how I keep thinking about her all the time, it makes me wonder, does ever think of me?  even once? Say, between the time, she closes her eye lids, rewinds the day, and goes to sleep? Or in the long train journey between her house and her job, where she would be sitting between two women discussing the family chores and lazily sometimes when she would spot a girl, talking to her boyfriend, blushing, lying, smiling, teasing?
Or when she goes to a shop to buy an icecream and she has to decide between vanilla and strawberry?
Or  when she is sick and is lying on the bed, sleepless at two in the morning, wondering about the meaning of life?
May be never. She probably does not think of me ever.
But in each of my  thought, I drape her thoughts like the finest of the silk, to feel cozy and self inflict some pain.