Salt

Salt

A sprinkle of you is enough, don't need much more of that
Occasionally stirring your grains into the pot of my delicious memories makes them palatable on the roughest days.

But no more than those two pinches.

Salting every memory turns the pot into a mess of scrunched noses, bleeding tongues, and disgusted upheavals of the stomach.

I bought a bag full of you for winter pickling.
Every leafy end smeared with the scent of salty sweat, reminding me of the summers we went around thirsting for each other.

Turns out, over-salting might wilt those memories into a fermented mess of piled high pickles.
I wish I could preserve myself, brine myself in your salt. Become a part of your skin as you perspire.

But I kept on adding grains of you without any granules of my own.

And now, this glass of lemon water is too salty to drink.

- Shreeparna