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Discoveries by Anjali Bhavan

Updated: May 4, 2021




Since you don’t meet, I like to play hide-and-seek with your vowels. With your consonants.

I compensate for everything with fully-formed, voluptuous, complete sentences and a serious dearth of text language. Suddenly, there are no shortcuts, there are only arduous, painstakingly handcrafted sentences I mutter to myself twice before sending over to you.

I like to think about your hair falling on the phone as you finally decide to respond to my texts. I like to think of you unraveling into tears when you receive my messages, watered down from salt and an afternoon of violently shutting everything up inside. It feels like I’m swallowing a big cream roll; only the size of the hole inside the roll (am I even making sense anymore?) continues to grow bigger and bigger, until it has replaced my oesophagus. Imagine being able to be contained within a food item; imagine being able to be contained within all the things you say to someone. Imagine being a sum of nothing else.



 


Anjali Bhavan is an engineering undergrad. Her work has appeared/is forthcoming in Speaking Tree (a weekend supplement of The Times of India), Porridge Magazine, Coldnoon International Journal, Allegro Poetry Review, Sooth Swarm Journal and Cafe Dissensus Everyday among others. She currently writes according to her moods, and looks forward to oddball experiences.

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