“I write about autumn and broken poetry about all the summers I could have been. Sapphire verses about the loneliness of dried flowers and the icy cold winters in my bones. I could have been a love song and wrapped you like the blanket you sleep in. I could have worn a sundress and walked like summer in the seasons painted by Van Gogh on your wall. I could have been a kiss disguised as a love poem or morbid words that constellate as an epitaph on your skin for your demons to just let you be.“
SAKSHI NARULA 