Priyo, a bengali term for favourite,
She writes a letter to someone, someone who is her favourite, someone whom she hasn’t seen for long, a little sad a little happy, a little longing, a little missing.
You must be thinking it to be her lover,
It could be,
It could be anyone who makes the butterflies flutter in her stomach.
The woman she desires,the woman she loves, the woman who made her world spin,
Or may be a man, a man who touched her soul which no one else could.
or may be someone who is much more than just a gender.
Someone she sees when she closes her eyes,
Someone who without thinking twice is the love of her life.
I was sitting in front of her for such a long time just to feel to whom that letter might have been addressed to.
May be it is not something I should be curious about,
But her eyes, plays a game which gives away and still holds on to the deepest secret she is holding in her hand.
Which is just for her “priyo”.
Not for us.
Acrylic on canvas.
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