He made her eyes, a bit more sparkling.
Her cheeks, bloomer.
Her smile, wider.
Just a slight hitch, life spill the water upon his ‘painting’.
“….but dad, I love singing”
“science has the best career options”
70 years later, his soul ‘sang’ the dirge, as they took the unborn artist’s body to the grave.
And again, she just smiled while he told her that he loves her.
Tears rolled down his cheeks, but she kept smiling.
And then, he embraced the photo-frame.
‘A picture says a thousand words.’
She wished it to be a baby girl,
He, to be a baby boy.
Months later, “For sale: baby shoes, never worn”, she advertised.
As I walk down the lane, her fragrance still lingers upon the myriad thoughts, that have her existence.
I wonder, because she never wore a ‘perfume’.