Sunday, February 04, 2007

I always wanted to write you a song Part - I

You wished on my star every night
kissed my blues away
where's your love
where's your love

You became the star of another world
promised me you'll care
where's your love
where's your love

You know it's time to say goodbye
just say it anyway
where's your love
where's your love


Aunt Clarence always got a nasty cold in February. She did not mind the sneezing caused by Mr. Prometheus’s shedding fur, but flu was her true nemesis. Toady, she did not mind a blocked nasal cavity or her frail bones, which were considered unbreakable by her fellow marathon runners in the late fifties. But ever since James Cameron said the Titanic was unsinkable, she was convinced about an irony called fate, just like the devil.

And today, her nephew - the only surviving anti-Christ within a fifty mile radius had decided to embrace the Holy Ghost and its fathers and sons. She wore her peach silk blouse. She struggled with the hook on her pearl necklace. She marveled at her fading beauty. She was still uncertain if the wedding vows will infact be exchanged. It was a good idea convincing Arthur to keep the ceremony short n’ sweet, given the dismal state of her bladder, which had exerted its independence from The Clarence Nervous System a decade earlier.