What if, when you wake up one morning, to discover you’ve loved without knowing, a spectral grace across parallel realms like two ships passing? Perhaps love need not be tangled to bind.

It’s that ridiculous sense of seeing your love in every single thing you do, those stupid daily fairy tales that never come true.

Part soliloquy, part confessional, I have no idea how many metaphors I’ve thrown at you. How do I tell you that you are my inspiration, my caffeine-free Red Bull?

How is it humanly possible to miss someone you’ve never met, whom you’ve yet to meet, so intensely that it wrenches and twists your guts, and fills your chest with such ache? In a sweeping plain, these words come to mind:

Have you ever known an impossible kind of love? The kind between strangers? The kind that is gut-wrenchingly agonising yet exhilarating? I have. And part of me wishes that I didn’t.

I'm very much a person who loves the rain, and finds it to be such a sweet and blessed relief. I don't hate the sun, but there is something wonderfully magical about summer rain, and petrichor. To me, it is nature's aromatic poetry, a delicate fusion of rain, soil, and time in life's cyclical dance. And petrichor will always remind me of a certain loved one.