She rested her hand over the folds of her pale blue sari
I could tell her she looked
Snigdho. Soothing. Warm, and cool.
Decades spent reading English but I faltered,
Clutching at my mother tongue when I am wordless at heart.
I could tell her she felt like a piece of music
A well-woven song
One might forget the words but never the tune.
I could tell her many things, she would not listen
She could not,
Through my cheap phone's half-broken screen
My words wouldn't reach her the way I want them to.
Just another comment, just another DM,
I toyed with the idea of being kissed with a thoughtless double-tap
And forgotten like the rest of her admirers.
My sister tells me to stop writing for women like I want them
And pining for the idea of men
Then too, I was torn
Did I want to see myself as her?
Did I really want her to see me?
I couldn't compete with whoever that sent her those lilies
The bouquet she nursed with one hand
While the other caught busy fixing her hair.
Calculated, but candid 
I haven't forgotten when she was once my friend
Carefree and just as beautiful
You could look at her any moment and she would make it stop.
I'm sure I was jealous.
Of her beauty, of its power
I have told men and they never understood
They blink fast
Gulp once
Then try to convince me that I am pretty
Even with a bare face.
I'm not sure I understand it either
So I did what I do -
Scroll away.