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  • She ran through the narrow lanes. Her feet making music as they came in contact with the streams of water gushing through the streets. Oceans of blue around her. It was raining. Madly. Something that the city hadn’t seen in years. She was born. Her story being written.

    She looked at it again. Drinking it all in. That which held her dreams. The house that she carried with her everywhere she went. Magnificently blue. The most beautiful blue. She left the best part of herself there. She needed to come back to it every now and then. She had been seeing it for years and fell in love with it every single time she saw it. She heard her name being called out. She could hear the stars, the drums and the rhythm, the music of the falling water. She loved the touch of it on her bare skin. Pure joy. Ecstasy. She suddenly felt something soft touching her leg. A cat, she saw. Pure white and blue eyed. Cats brought stories. She smiled.

    She somehow always thought of the colour crimson when it rained. She loved the sound of it. Crimson. The drama, the spice, the rhythm and the rush of the Amazon, the drum beats of the Rhumba, the joyous passion of love, life! so sensual.

    All figment of her imagination or the story of her life?
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