Twittering Tales #125 – 26 February 2019

We were small when we began sleeping on pillows made from mustard seeds stuffed in a cover and sewed by our granny.

One day I was nagging Zongpa to tell me a story to why, we got painful bumps on our asses if we sat upon pillows.

โ€œGo and apologise, they curse you as you sit on them.โ€I had not known then that you could communicate with an object made of โ€œonce aliveโ€ materials.

So, began the bond of a girl and her pillow.

I sketched a pair of lips on its cover and when asking itโ€™s sex, it said,

โ€œYou are nothing, nor am I. It is what you think you are based on certain morphological disorders bestowed by gravity on you.โ€

The next day, I left only to return to it as an adult after 10 years.

I went to my old pillow, hugging it, I asked,

โ€œTell me what you have seen?โ€

โ€œI have not seen but learnt human bodies entwine aimlessly, pressing me hard and low, asphyxiating me almost. A cat comes sometimes and sleeps lightly upon me, most well behaved of all, I saw your cousins sin, I was comforting your aunt when her husband died. I learnt disdain, pity, hatred, lust.

But I missed you all this while, they used me again and again unapologetically.. Your elders and children have not learnt this art, except you.โ€

I brought it with me, keep it clean and happy. It doesnโ€™t precisely like sweats smelling like rotten eggs stuck on it, neither likes dirty ๐Ÿฆถ feet stamping it. It likes to be peaceful and ๐Ÿงผ clean and fresh always.


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