Happy ending
A crow flies in solitude. Few droplets of rain rest on my arm. Shimmering blue and green lights speak to me from a distance, and a couple holding hands own the street with their laughter. A kid from the house next door gifts me a tiny rose, and as I book my evening show tickets for the new spiderman movie, all I wish for is a happy ending. Like the end to this day I am seeing right now. The yellow sidelight from the nearby car makes the crying 6-year-old begging for a chocolate startle and then, cry again, and in his idiosyncrasies, I get reminded of the 21-year-old me begging for a Hot Wheels in a supermarket a few days ago. I suppose my idiocy won't leave me anytime soon. Kathmandu, the land of my very dreams, which birthed the solace I enjoy, which breathes the polluted air of my audacious jokes; Kathmandu, the city of temples where pigeons mark their territory on a parked scooter; Kathmandu, the light that scatters somewhere in Nagarjun and the longer you stare at the c...