Talk to your heart

"Talk to your heart," he said nonchalantly and left me all alone to combat with my thoughts. So, then I picked up a conversation with my heart. Picking up conversation with your own heart can be a tricky affair for you need to think of the topic yourself. "Okay, dear heart, lets begin with the most formal question, what are you doing?" I knew there was a stare that said," Pumping blood in your system, what do you expect?" I laughed out loud and felt stupid having done that and checked here and there for any stranger crossing over the path I was walking on, on my way back home. I knew I had to trick my heart into giving me answers I needed to hear and not the basic scientifically truthful answers. So, I straightened my neck( maybe to boost my morale) and as I did that I remembered my mother who used to complain about the time I used to take in completing the task assigned to me. The reason still eludes me, what could be the connection between having long neck and the long time one takes in finishing one's task, I am talking about the sharchokp expression 'ngang ringbu!' But physically also I have long neck so in my childhood days I used to think that maybe all people with long necks take long time. I laughed out for the second time. My best friend should qualify for a giraffe then, for she takes one hour to just wear her school uniform forget about the other things.

Coming back to talking to my heart, I wanted to continue the conversation we were having before my mother called me back home. So, he was telling me that it was my face that drew him towards me. I knew the first thing I would do after reaching home would be to study my face thoroughly. As if by magic, I found myself in front of the mirror, I had lost the track of time since I was lost in his thoughts. I peered into that pair of openings in my face that helped me to see the world. "Your eyes had a depth," his voice rang in my ears. I searched for the depth, where was the depth? I stared hard into it, failed miserably. Then I shifted my glance slightly below my eyes and saw my nose. I remembered my father telling me that I have kneaded dough made into a lump and placed in the middle of my face for a nose. Another laugh exited from my mouth before I could stop myself. And that laugh pointed out my thin lips to me. How I would try applying lipstick on that thin rim of line I called my mouth. The lipstick would pathetically cling onto it like a man holding onto a twig when he is about to fall off from a cliff. "So much for an attractive face!" I heard my heart, who was a mute spectator till then speak. I said, "Shut up!" I knew my chance of talking to my heart had come to an end with that harsh line.