Bookmark #90

As someone who calls himself a writer, I find stories all around me. When there aren’t any around, go out and create some. Very rarely though, and trust me when I say this, stories happen to me on their own. There’s a story that happened to me a month ago. It’s this tale of comfort and warmth and mutual clumsiness. It’s a story of not grand gestures but simple things said and done. Sometimes, it’s a story of things that don’t require saying anything at all. This story made me realise how the clich├ęs were wrong all along and how love isn’t a conquest but a simple feeling of home. It made me realise how easy it is to look at someone and just smile, knowing that they will be there for you, always, and that you’ll be there for them. Amongst stories of wild rewrites, drunken parties, epic travelogues, absolute brotherhood, and instant time-skips, I found something I never expected to find. I found a simple story of cupcakes and coffee. It’s my favourite one of them alI.