The Perfect Gift

I do not want those ear rings of gold. Notice that my ears are not pierced. Notice that you will spend a couple of thousand bucks on something I have no use of.

I do not want the platinum necklace. Notice that I will hesitate to wear it to work, fearing I will misplace it. Notice that it will grace the almirah locker, and not my nape.

I do not want the hand crafted silk saree. Notice that I do not know how to drape it. Notice how I hastily adjust my t shirt before stepping out. Notice that a saree is too much trouble.

I do not want the latest iPhone. Notice how inept I am at technology. Notice that my HTC performs the same functions, at one fifth the price.

I do not want the magnificent painting of the Colosseum. Notice that I have never stepped out of the country. Notice that the painting is a false hope, a chimera, an illusion.

I do not want the perfume that costs a hundred rupees a drop. Notice that nature has so many scents to choose from. Notice that the petrichor of the earth and the citrus of the lemon and the sweetness of the rose have always been my favourites.

I do not want the dainty diamond studded watch either.

I want the time that it shows. 

Your time. With me. Our time. Together.

Because that, to me, is the perfect gift.

I want your time. Notice that I thrive on it. Notice that your time is all I have of you. Notice that I long to be a memory from your past, a truth from your present, a hope for your future. Take notice.

This birthday, gift me time?!