An Uncalled Memory (#writingshots 1)

#writingshots by #kapilraj

Your hand is resting on top of mine. Was. Things eventually disintegrate, losing their meaning and existence. For the time being, this memory lingered. This is not a common occurrence and should not occur at all. Because if it doesn’t disappear, I will crave it.

I’m sorry, was it your hand over mine or mine beneath yours? It’s not the same. That touch permeates the weight and bounds of skin; the body does not grasp where the warmth comes from but pushes back the influenc...