Mosaic

Cross legged, I sat on the sidelines adoring the wind fondle with every strand of his dark hair. I loved how drops of sweat would travel the length of his face and take cover in his medium stubble as he did the one thing that made him ecstatic. I loved watching him play football, because the zeal he would instantly acquire during football was like no other. It would make me forget to realise that football was a sport that required group efforts. I would forget that there were other players on the field. An imaginary limelight would fall on him and I’d find myself staring at him like my eyes had been glued.
He was a mosaic, broken, yet a work of art and I was an aesthete falling in love with every little perfect imperfection.

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