autograph.

Dear kishwer, 

                 You asked me to write you an autograph. But do you realize how impossible a feat that is?

               Over the past month or so, you haven't stopped asking me, begging me. And I kept telling it off, giving you a million different reasons. I told you friends didn't write autographs for each other. And that is true. I mean, how could I ever put down the overwhelming surge of feelings in me into a tiny page or two?

                But because you insisted, and because your persistent determination at getting me to write something for you has blown me off, I shall do it. I shall write in your yearbook. Or rather, I shall try.

                Because honestly kishwer, how is it that I can ever find the right colors to paint a picture of you? You are perfection. Now you're going to tell me, Nobody's perfect, alice.  And I'll tell you what, you may be flawed, but you are flawed in the perfect way. So that makes you perfection.

                  So here's to you kishwer. And to all the lovely times we had.