Is it Valentine's Day today?

Guy: Two decades antique.
Newborn poet.
Thinks the ones of his kind are rare,
avoids talking
about his idiosyncratic passions.
Crazy in love.
Pities himself, failure in love's
made him a lot
more cynical

Girl: A year elder than the guy.
Almost Beautiful.
Somewhat visible anorexic dark circles around the small eyes.
Sunsilk hair, looks like it's been thoroughly ironed.
Walks with a gait that particularly makes her waist swing
Doesn't understand the existence of lunatic lovers, pro'ly
And allow me to say kinda sexy? Or well the sub-species of
human females, that men like to be around/

Story: The Guy falls in love( you never rise in love, only 'fall') with the girl at first sight.Doesn't even try to find out about what she exactly is like.
Reasons? No reasons...when when your hormones are running hot, there is no place for reasons.She is a Goddess. The stuff his dreams are made off The next thing he does is write elaborate love letters... send roses her way...
The girl keeps mum, keeps him waiting and guessing.
And this continues, till she finds another stud of a man...

Story Further: Guy has stopped roses and letters, it hurts him to see his lady love go around with the other guy
Time hurts, Love hurts, Life hurts
And he loves that hurt
Because, the thing that you still get hurt, proves that you are still in love

Now: This Valentine's Day, he sends her a card that reads something like 'If you turn back, you will find me waiting where you had left me, alone and gazing at the stars...and definitely writing a poem on you'. It doesn't have his name...just says..Silent Admirer. Does the girl spare that a second thought? We don't know...!

Moral of the Story:
Does this sound like a story to you? It's life. Did the guy waste his precious love on a chic like that? And more importantly, the way he thought her to be one piece of art, did she deserve it? The way he spent sleepless nights, writing her notes...was all that worth it? And all the hurt he got in return...?

Underachievers' Anonymous

Welcome to the world's underachievers refuge!
We are underachievers, We are losers...
We have failed all our lives...
And now we are heavily drunk
Sitting in sleepy solitary corners
Of obsolete noisy pubs
We incessantly clink our glasses
And talk to ourselves
About what could have been
but never happened
We talk about remorse,
about reasons that tied our feet up
We curse spells of bad luck
We envy the winners of the game
We criticize the rules of the world
We are unhappy, and we clink our glasses
We are chattering, and we drink more
And screw ourselves up
We want the dawn to never come
Too shy to face the day light
We are one amongst those people
Swarms of whom throng these places
Craving for hard work, sweat and blood...
Had we sulked and been lazy?
All our lives we have faked happiness
Tonight let's undo everything

Let's wash the shame
Let's be what we are
Let's make ourselves heard
Let our hearts boast about losing
Let our hearts boast about the trials we made
Despite which we lost...
And pep up the mind which still thinks it deserves more & better

underneath your skin

The million dollar question is how frank are we?
How much of ourselves do we show to the world and
how much do we hide? Despite claiming that we are
born free we are actually tied up in chains,
chains that we ourselves have tied up ourselves
with. Is not secrecy about one’s own self a kind of a
limitation that comes in the way of a free spirit?

How frankly do we expose the hatred that we have
in ourselves for people who induce nothing but
disgust in our minds..?

How delicately are we subject to our instantaneous
bursts of whims? How often have you let the bird of
desire fly out of its cage, out in the open? Should
we let that capricious soul within us die an
uncalled for death?

If we love someone, can we uncork the heart
and talk about it? Despite the not so desirable

If we truly deeply madly admire something/someone what
stops us from confessing?

We were supposed to be free, right?
Afraid of shame, are we?
Do we tremble if anyone points a finger at us in the crowd?
What is wrong about standing apart from the herd of normal
humans, even be it for the conventionally wrong reasons...
After all those reasons are ours. We should stand up for our
reasons. If we don't, who will?
Can't we just stop caring about everything else?
It's all about the Freedom Of Expression, Dammit!

Part II

I lay restlessly on the bed. Changing sides for almost half of the night, I had had enough.
There was hardly anybody I wanted to talk to.
Should I rather talk to myself? I ventured into the corridor. I had left my slippers behind and I could feel the cold floor underneath. I was a little lost as always and had no idea where my feet were taking me.
I was tip-toeing quite confidently into the heart of the night until I don’t know what stopped me.
Holy Shit!
I catch him painting…!
And when I look at his canvas…my eyelids refuse to flap.
The victim of his passion leaves me awestruck, gaping for breath.
I never cared to know, but am I like this ethereal?
Is it bits of me that he has scattered with the paint on his canvas, or something in me that is known only to him?
Hell! She exudes energy…

PS: Aman, this one's for you! LoL