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that feeling of numbness..
Babushka doll
Babushka dolls. They fit perfectly in the palm of your hand. Clasp it with both hands , feel it nestle against your skin. Babushka dolls aren’t real but there’s something about them. Something about them that’s magical, that emanates some sort of ray that melts onto the surface of your fingertips and trickle down like a waterfall, flourishing in the desert. Feel the sensation as it evaporates, gets sucked into your skin. Feel it slyly crawling its way through your veins. It stops right at you bones. It’s just a doll but so much more than that. Its perfect. Perfect in every way possible. The round, innocent, doe like eyes with the slightest, twinkling gleam that could make an angel cry. The lips, red as the devils trident, soft like the kiss of springtime. The colors, like an endless parade, chaotic, out of control, but oh so beautiful. The intricate details, so fine, so perfect; the most dazzling array of colors. If you shake it close to your ear, you’ll hear a the perfect clank of others. All the same. All perfect. If you twist it, it still looks glorious, it can do no wrong. Its smiling face never changes, painted on just right. You open it and smell the chalky, comforting scent of wood. The inside is so different from the outer. It is flawless, a fallen angel come to bless the earth.
The next Babushka doll is smaller but perfect nonetheless. It fits perfectly, clasped tightly in the palm of one hand. The eyelashes like a spiders legs, slowly retracting and delicately crawling on the surcae with the upmost gentle steps. The effervescent smell of wood floods you nostrils and cause an almost burning sensation of glee when you open it . You discover yet another babushka doll. Perfect and tiny, Small enough to be held with two fingers. You examine it, wonder how its possible to be so flawless, then remove it. There is nothing left but a hollow, large doll with swallowed, smaller versions of it. It is hollow. There is nothing in it. You look everywhere for the next piece, the one that comes after it but can’t find it. The last piece is already there. It is the end but we don’t want to believe it. Where is the next perfect doll? There can only be so many perfect dolls in this world and one cannot end with a perfect doll all the way through. There must be space to be empty, hollow.
She must be empty to be filled. Over the years, these small babushka dolls will be misplaced. The babushka doll will be tucked away on the shelf, forgotten as time goes on, covered with dust, waiting, longing , hoping with the same emptiness she once had a long time ago.
- tavleen 
Not my best poem/story/whatever but yeah .. it was a rainy day and this is how I got rid of my boredom ( well somewhat) and the picture isn’t that great but I highly doubt anyone’s gonna read this anyhoooowww XD
