Utopia
It is so cold here in Shimla, my legs can't get warm. This happens each time I'm at a cold place, the chill gets in my bones and then I can't sleep. The sun gets in my eyes, and they water, salt trickling down into burnt skin. The heat makes my head hurt. I suppose I just can't find the right temperature. I keep thinking of a house in the hills, but not these in the Himalayas. These are not my hills. I wasn't born here, my body could never get used to this. I am familiar with the green hills that smell of thorny wildflowers, and mango trees, of wet earth that smells like the sea. The days there are warm and the nights cool. My house will be in the Western Ghats where locals speak a language that sounds harsh but isn't really harsh at all. I long to to go back home to a future that hasn't even taken shape completely yet. I see it like a white cloth used as the background for a movie, flapping in the night air. But right now, I'm cold. It is going to be