Ayushman,
I came across your contact in the back-cover of Mahabharata Revisited. That was a fabulous cover you designed. The usual Facebook stalking later, I find out that you are just the kind of guy I would love to love. Sexy, succinct, smart. I am a mere Chemistry studying student, working part-time at my dad's printing house. Your profile, however, released all kinds of chemicals in me. I especially love the tattoo behind your ear, subtly veiled by your hair. When would you go for a hair-cut next? I would love to sit beside you, and see the scissor snap a shape on your skull. Oh, I could kiss you. All over. You, in your clouds of weed and shower of colours.
These days, things such are these -- mails, mostly remain unread. Just like I am sure my FB inbox to you must have landed up in your 'other' folder, to be neglected. Perhaps, the person you commissioned to handle your mails and social identity is reading this, and even if s/he is, I do not mind. I am just saying. Similar to how you 'just express'. I cannot suppress this wish to know you, to be with you. In chemistry, we call it acidity. It needs to burp itself out, else it would end up consuming the system.
Spend a day with me? No? Well, at least mail me back? Please? You, the kind person reading this mail, ask Sir to reply me, please? One Miller on me, I swear.
I feel like love. Just love. Hopelessly, with you. The two of us on...
Fill it up with whatever you wish,
Arjun.
PS: I know you wouldn't be happier with a Amrita or a Sheila.
PS1: I have a tattoo too. You are most welcome to find it out.
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