• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 11
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Quantum Entanglement

I am less blue even if you are a zillion years away from me.
In our space of Midnight blue, blue—it is our colour—big cats, ferocious bulls and Centaurs gobble up impurities, or what some humans like to call ailments, that either make or break us.

In our space of Midday white, white it is not our colour but you prove entanglement is not just a night-time gig.

When I wobble on stilettos, you are the floating dust particles in golden spaces that lock my knees into place, give me a little nudge, unlock and relax, leading to a graceful promenade.

Achoo! Not a problem. An embroidered handkerchief with daisy corners awaits neatly folded in a handbag pocket, on my walnut finish dressing table, freshly pressed in the laundry basket.

When neurotransmitters yawn, picket in front of red tape, the dust particles in golden hues, become gentle clouds caressing my auburn strands.

You are the warmth in a sun, sunny day.

The marshmallow bobbing in a sea of brown.

Fabulous fuchsias like bowing ballerinas after an extended encore.

I lay my sleepy head and your magnetic force lures me to another universe. A tug-of-war game where you always win, but I surrender. There. The secret is out.


Quantum Entanglement

One day you will change trajectory. You will come down—please promise me—and we will climb island mountains together. Watch the whales breathe, their breath transforming into fluffy clouds. Follow the trails, the foamy paths that these great blues—OK, mingled with grey—leave for us in long distance relationships. But this will disrupt the order of the universe.

Maybe it is better we do not know our contours, whether we have arms or tails, or one eye, three. What we have is enough. Our space is an enormous blackboard. We write in alabaster ink.

We are entangled in a black and white web. But we breathe. Breathe. And in this space of inhale and exhale, we go on living and dreaming.