Human beings in their lifetime are to attain puberty twice. Not once, but twice.
With the first one, their bodies become capable of sex
After the second, their minds become capable of sex..
Most of us, unfortunately, are still stuck in-between the two!
J
A few ends are brought about by mutual consensus. They happen because we want them to. But they don't sink in as fast, my system gets these hiccups, it suffocates at times, this abruptness of the end, the aftermath, I don't think I have adapted as well as I should have. Okay, enough!
The question is simple, on my face. Am I jealous? Of every other woman you now share even the tiniest of things with? I might deny it when I am totally in my senses. But right now I am not. Right now, I am just insane with jealousy. I avoid letting these instances from entering the proximity of my conscious. But sometimes it's just so hard. Mostly, it is tempting, you know. I can't help being human. I want to know about you. I want to know how much better you are doing than moi. I wonder if there is a new woman. And via a lot of unfortunate discoveries, with negative affirmations of all kinds, I end of with this bitter jealousy I can't help but write 'bout.
The wound is raw. I have not the slightest idea when it will heal. Or whether it will heal at all. We are all trying to move on. Sometimes moving on is the happily ever after. I have tried remedies and failed. I have tried to fill the void you left me with, with other people. But the feeling is like-dead. I have done nothing short of compelling myself. But the wound is still raw.
And so I write to myself, every night. In the dead of the night, I am ..engaged in an effort, to fill the void with words, and realizing that it doesn't work that way!
The question is simple, on my face. Am I jealous? Of every other woman you now share even the tiniest of things with? I might deny it when I am totally in my senses. But right now I am not. Right now, I am just insane with jealousy. I avoid letting these instances from entering the proximity of my conscious. But sometimes it's just so hard. Mostly, it is tempting, you know. I can't help being human. I want to know about you. I want to know how much better you are doing than moi. I wonder if there is a new woman. And via a lot of unfortunate discoveries, with negative affirmations of all kinds, I end of with this bitter jealousy I can't help but write 'bout.
The wound is raw. I have not the slightest idea when it will heal. Or whether it will heal at all. We are all trying to move on. Sometimes moving on is the happily ever after. I have tried remedies and failed. I have tried to fill the void you left me with, with other people. But the feeling is like-dead. I have done nothing short of compelling myself. But the wound is still raw.
And so I write to myself, every night. In the dead of the night, I am ..engaged in an effort, to fill the void with words, and realizing that it doesn't work that way!
If I were a book
The seemingly perfect lives of people, the ones that they show on facebook, you know, I was wondering how authentic that is. Because I too post rosy pictures and create one image that makes everything appear good in my life. But if you have been reading me for sometime, you would know, more things are wrong than right. Wouldn't you?
Today I was flipping through the profiles of some of the senior guys in college, seniors during my undergrad i.e.. I was awed and happy surprised, overjoyed, to notice their Relationship Status. Some couples have been seeing each other eversince, all these years. And according to common belief, distance is a big thing to tackle for a relationship. Some of them stood that test. They are still in love, probably will always be. The best part is going through their wedding pictures, you know, flowers, beautiful brides in red, pensive grooms, skies lit up by fireworks, all those dreams staring at me right out of the pages of facebook.
And sometimes I compare their lives with mine. No, I honestly do, though the grounds of comparison are totally unfair. I still do, because cribbing acts as a vent sometimes. And there is another thing I cannot help thinking about. How effectively, those pretty pictures are able to hide the craters that lie underneath.
Everyone isn't as happy as she pretends? Or is she?
Today I was flipping through the profiles of some of the senior guys in college, seniors during my undergrad i.e.. I was awed and happy surprised, overjoyed, to notice their Relationship Status. Some couples have been seeing each other eversince, all these years. And according to common belief, distance is a big thing to tackle for a relationship. Some of them stood that test. They are still in love, probably will always be. The best part is going through their wedding pictures, you know, flowers, beautiful brides in red, pensive grooms, skies lit up by fireworks, all those dreams staring at me right out of the pages of facebook.
And sometimes I compare their lives with mine. No, I honestly do, though the grounds of comparison are totally unfair. I still do, because cribbing acts as a vent sometimes. And there is another thing I cannot help thinking about. How effectively, those pretty pictures are able to hide the craters that lie underneath.
Everyone isn't as happy as she pretends? Or is she?
Also there are a couple of profiles I stalk, but that's another story. Or no story at all. You obviously know why I stalk them, don't you?
now & then
Are you just a friend? I wonder. Aren't you someone more than that? You make me so happy. You make me forget, all the bad things that ever happened to me. You make me smile incessantly, I feel crazy after our daily pointless conversations. You bring out this person in me I didn't know existed. I don't recognize her. Or may be I do. She is the person I used to be some years ago, when I was untouched by the harsh realities of life. You bring out the child in me, the innocent me, the beautiful me, and you do that so well. And I am so grateful for that, I can't tell you how much.
But there is one thing that irks me at times. You don't know the real person I am now. The one who is always sad and so full of spite, such a cynic, such a loner. You don't know and I am worried because the day I unleash her before you, you might not accept me for what I am. And that day I will be heartbroken again, and all the spite and loneliness will trace its way back to me. You will leave me as the person you found me. This enormous joy that I find in your company, will vanish like it never existed. That makes me afraid, sometimes.
Or there is another way this whole thing could work out. If you promise to stay with me all the time, be mine forever, then may be the bad me, the spiteful and sad me will never resurface again. You can have the childlike, beautiful me for the rest of ourlives.
What say?
And I guess Friendship's Day is in the offing, I should wish you a very happy friendship's day.. :)
But there is one thing that irks me at times. You don't know the real person I am now. The one who is always sad and so full of spite, such a cynic, such a loner. You don't know and I am worried because the day I unleash her before you, you might not accept me for what I am. And that day I will be heartbroken again, and all the spite and loneliness will trace its way back to me. You will leave me as the person you found me. This enormous joy that I find in your company, will vanish like it never existed. That makes me afraid, sometimes.
Or there is another way this whole thing could work out. If you promise to stay with me all the time, be mine forever, then may be the bad me, the spiteful and sad me will never resurface again. You can have the childlike, beautiful me for the rest of ourlives.
What say?
And I guess Friendship's Day is in the offing, I should wish you a very happy friendship's day.. :)
May be
You won't remember the tiny details, neither would I, the pain that came along with what could have been love, after a few years from now. But the memories of the one day of being in love with thee, will stay with me forever. Yeah, one day.
They say, a thing practiced for 21 days at a stretch becomes a habit. I don't remember when was the last we spoke. But I want to get over the way your voice created ripples in my heart and stole my sleep.
However, the memories of the one day will stay, the feel of walking on clouds and not meaning to get down, will stay. It could have been love, or may be it was. May be it was..
Hmm..
Misanthrope looks for Misanthrope.
The dead of the night is the best part of the day.
I am watching a movie. I watch movies on weekend nights because I like nothing else to do. I watch movies on weekend nights because they keep me from feeling terribly lonely. It's called In Search of a Midnight Kiss. The name says quite much. It's a very different movie, you know. It's worth a watch because it's worth a watch. It's about lonely people looking for love, and about life. And the print I am watching is slightly weird, it's black and white. And outside the night is black, but they have the damn lights on. I mean c'mon! Let it be dark, when it should be dark.
I just drew my curtains and closed my eyes. My breath settled on the window pane, and it got hazy. Many tired souls must be sleeping as peacefully as could be. Tomorrow I am not going to be up till noon. I generally avoid mornings thesedays. And afternoons, when people don't just shut up, and I have to listen. Sometimes I feel like my ears are going to detach themselves from my head and fall off like dead jelly. People! I wish I could tell them, just how much I hate them sometimes. On their face. But I can't.
And I am writing like crazy because, I don't know. I really don't know. It gets so hard sometimes, you wish it wasn't there in the first place. I am sure you don't get my previous sentence. And if you did, you could interpret it in ways more than one. But don't.
It's like 3:03 in the morning, and I think I should rather get back to that movie. In Search of a Midnight Kiss. Darn! I am notgetting sleep. But there is something in this time, I am alone with myself. Together with me.
And if you have read so far..
The dead of the night is the best part of the day.
I am watching a movie. I watch movies on weekend nights because I like nothing else to do. I watch movies on weekend nights because they keep me from feeling terribly lonely. It's called In Search of a Midnight Kiss. The name says quite much. It's a very different movie, you know. It's worth a watch because it's worth a watch. It's about lonely people looking for love, and about life. And the print I am watching is slightly weird, it's black and white. And outside the night is black, but they have the damn lights on. I mean c'mon! Let it be dark, when it should be dark.
I just drew my curtains and closed my eyes. My breath settled on the window pane, and it got hazy. Many tired souls must be sleeping as peacefully as could be. Tomorrow I am not going to be up till noon. I generally avoid mornings thesedays. And afternoons, when people don't just shut up, and I have to listen. Sometimes I feel like my ears are going to detach themselves from my head and fall off like dead jelly. People! I wish I could tell them, just how much I hate them sometimes. On their face. But I can't.
And I am writing like crazy because, I don't know. I really don't know. It gets so hard sometimes, you wish it wasn't there in the first place. I am sure you don't get my previous sentence. And if you did, you could interpret it in ways more than one. But don't.
It's like 3:03 in the morning, and I think I should rather get back to that movie. In Search of a Midnight Kiss. Darn! I am notgetting sleep. But there is something in this time, I am alone with myself. Together with me.
And if you have read so far..
The dead of the night is the best part of the day.
Why I hate FerreroRocher
I don't exactly hate FerreroRocher, but I am supposed to. I realized this when a friend of mine stuffed it into my mouth and I spat it out, immediately. And sometimes, who doesn't want to buy for herself a pack of those delicious balls of chocolate? But I stop myself, because I hate them. Rather I avoid them like poison ivy.
Rewound to a few hours, I was slouching on the couch, of some obscure coffee shop, on the lesser known by lanes of the town, my hilly town. I was looking at the colors on the walls and on the roof, and at the crystal lights, talking to a friend, who was worried her life is so perfect, touch-wood. We were peeling off the wrappers of chocolates, and I was reminded that I hatred.
Rewound a few years, FerreroRocher was a gift from him. Three balls, wrapped in golden foil, placed in a box shaped like a heart. When he placed them in my hands, my joy was unbounded, unimaginable. I was grinning so much, my mouth hurt. Then on, began the first date. Smiles, mindless conversations, crazy questions, lousy answers, endless giggles, laughing like I would fall off the chair. We discussed the paintings on the walls of the restaurant, the color code. I had no time to look anywhere else but him. But whenever I did, I caught the popping eye balls of people, obviously they weren't popping enough, I just felt so, we always do. I was so nervous, from inside my heart was trembling, I wanted this thing to go on, I didn't want it to a die a premature death, or even a mature one. We always do, things like that. Don't we?
I put my keys and my cellphone and my wallet on the table. But the FerreroRocher, on the couch beside me, I wanted to hold it close to me. I remember even clutching it for sometime. Then I got so engrossed in the conversation, I forgot about the chocolates, and left them behind on my way back. After he dropped me home, like I was like dying to narrate every single thing that happened, to whoever. In the process I realized the blunder. My FerreroRocher was left behind, duh. In one breath, I ran back to the restaurant and almost begged the waitress if she had seen it lying on the table. She took it out from her drawer and handed it over to me. And I can still remember the broad smile that covered her face that moment. We both knew what it meant.
I had pressed its golden foil between the pages of my diary, like it was some treasure. So that was it. The story ended a few days after that. And that's exactly why I hate FerreroRocher so much. I try my best to..
Rewound to a few hours, I was slouching on the couch, of some obscure coffee shop, on the lesser known by lanes of the town, my hilly town. I was looking at the colors on the walls and on the roof, and at the crystal lights, talking to a friend, who was worried her life is so perfect, touch-wood. We were peeling off the wrappers of chocolates, and I was reminded that I hatred.
Rewound a few years, FerreroRocher was a gift from him. Three balls, wrapped in golden foil, placed in a box shaped like a heart. When he placed them in my hands, my joy was unbounded, unimaginable. I was grinning so much, my mouth hurt. Then on, began the first date. Smiles, mindless conversations, crazy questions, lousy answers, endless giggles, laughing like I would fall off the chair. We discussed the paintings on the walls of the restaurant, the color code. I had no time to look anywhere else but him. But whenever I did, I caught the popping eye balls of people, obviously they weren't popping enough, I just felt so, we always do. I was so nervous, from inside my heart was trembling, I wanted this thing to go on, I didn't want it to a die a premature death, or even a mature one. We always do, things like that. Don't we?
I put my keys and my cellphone and my wallet on the table. But the FerreroRocher, on the couch beside me, I wanted to hold it close to me. I remember even clutching it for sometime. Then I got so engrossed in the conversation, I forgot about the chocolates, and left them behind on my way back. After he dropped me home, like I was like dying to narrate every single thing that happened, to whoever. In the process I realized the blunder. My FerreroRocher was left behind, duh. In one breath, I ran back to the restaurant and almost begged the waitress if she had seen it lying on the table. She took it out from her drawer and handed it over to me. And I can still remember the broad smile that covered her face that moment. We both knew what it meant.
I had pressed its golden foil between the pages of my diary, like it was some treasure. So that was it. The story ended a few days after that. And that's exactly why I hate FerreroRocher so much. I try my best to..
Fling: An affair with I
I enjoy the gift of unbiased vision when I am not in love. Now probably is one such time. Probably.
And so I have been planning to write a series on my series of infatuations for long. I suppose that time has come. After every single fling got over, I have learnt so much from it. And trust me, that number is such unhealthy high, it makes me sick sometimes. But may be as an aftermath, after my objects of desire have left me, I have become a stronger person, if not a better person.
Today I feel like writing about this one person, who I came across some years ago. I loved his crisp sense of English and elegant choice of words. Without knowing when, I got drawn towards him a lot, for this and a hoard of other reasons I choose not to mention. Before I realized, I was trapped in my own emotion. So late one night, when I had been pondering how to get rid of his thoughts, I neatly wrote down his name on a sheet of paper, lit a candle, burnt it in its flame, slowly so that I could see every letter catch fire, and then held the ash in my hands, opened my window and blew it off. And dusted my hands off it. Sometimes it's better to get rid of it when it is not worth it. Sometimes, it is very tempting to hang on, holding on to hope, waiting for a U-turn of fate. My act of arson, didn't yield fruit immediately though, I got over the guy over a period of time, but I did.
Today, meeting him sometime again, reminds of what a fool I was. This truth though, is self imposed. Had things worked out the opposite way, I could have been by his side, blushing. Sometimes, you end up becoming what you choose. Life, broken into small pieces, looks this logically understandable. Life, is understood in retrospect. One day, I hope I will look back at each of these flings and laugh at my foolishness, however hypocritical that might sound. Call me whatever, I do this in my self interest, it's an act of self defense.
I have always wanted to become this fiercely independent woman, with a mind of her own. But me being a cluttered bundle of confused emotion and my dire need for the company of my kind, hinders me from becoming so. But anyway, I wish I become one such, someday.. someday, soon.
And so I have been planning to write a series on my series of infatuations for long. I suppose that time has come. After every single fling got over, I have learnt so much from it. And trust me, that number is such unhealthy high, it makes me sick sometimes. But may be as an aftermath, after my objects of desire have left me, I have become a stronger person, if not a better person.
Today I feel like writing about this one person, who I came across some years ago. I loved his crisp sense of English and elegant choice of words. Without knowing when, I got drawn towards him a lot, for this and a hoard of other reasons I choose not to mention. Before I realized, I was trapped in my own emotion. So late one night, when I had been pondering how to get rid of his thoughts, I neatly wrote down his name on a sheet of paper, lit a candle, burnt it in its flame, slowly so that I could see every letter catch fire, and then held the ash in my hands, opened my window and blew it off. And dusted my hands off it. Sometimes it's better to get rid of it when it is not worth it. Sometimes, it is very tempting to hang on, holding on to hope, waiting for a U-turn of fate. My act of arson, didn't yield fruit immediately though, I got over the guy over a period of time, but I did.
Today, meeting him sometime again, reminds of what a fool I was. This truth though, is self imposed. Had things worked out the opposite way, I could have been by his side, blushing. Sometimes, you end up becoming what you choose. Life, broken into small pieces, looks this logically understandable. Life, is understood in retrospect. One day, I hope I will look back at each of these flings and laugh at my foolishness, however hypocritical that might sound. Call me whatever, I do this in my self interest, it's an act of self defense.
I have always wanted to become this fiercely independent woman, with a mind of her own. But me being a cluttered bundle of confused emotion and my dire need for the company of my kind, hinders me from becoming so. But anyway, I wish I become one such, someday.. someday, soon.
Class
He: You know, you are the most amazing girl I have ever known?
She: Yes, I know. chuckles..
He: You know, youuu.. are the most amazing girl I have ever known?
She: Yeah, you just said it. How many have you known anyway?
He: A score of them. laughs..
She: You, my dear are worth more than just a score. You will find many more like me..even better
He: Naah. pauses.. You have a certain Class.
She: laughs uncontrollably. I have a what?
He: looks at her..
She: Okay, okay, now my stomach's hurting!
He: No, seriously, don't you think?
She: Think what?
He: That you're different from all of them, the herd? Honestly?
She: From who? The stilettoed and the aw-am-so-pretty, running around the trees?
He: If that's how you see them, then yeah, them..
She: I know, I am apart from them, but it doesn't pay.. sighs
He: falls silent..
She: Oh, but you too are a lil high now.. smiles, with questioning eyes
He: May be, may be not.. Will let you know if I remember having said this tomorrow after I wake up.. gets up to leave..
She: sighs.. Class..! Ha!
She: Yes, I know. chuckles..
He: You know, youuu.. are the most amazing girl I have ever known?
She: Yeah, you just said it. How many have you known anyway?
He: A score of them. laughs..
She: You, my dear are worth more than just a score. You will find many more like me..even better
He: Naah. pauses.. You have a certain Class.
She: laughs uncontrollably. I have a what?
He: looks at her..
She: Okay, okay, now my stomach's hurting!
He: No, seriously, don't you think?
She: Think what?
He: That you're different from all of them, the herd? Honestly?
She: From who? The stilettoed and the aw-am-so-pretty, running around the trees?
He: If that's how you see them, then yeah, them..
She: I know, I am apart from them, but it doesn't pay.. sighs
He: falls silent..
She: Oh, but you too are a lil high now.. smiles, with questioning eyes
He: May be, may be not.. Will let you know if I remember having said this tomorrow after I wake up.. gets up to leave..
She: sighs.. Class..! Ha!
Ugly Truth
I love the salsa sequence in The Ugly Truth, Gerard Butler just drags a reluctant Katherine to the dance floor, and the chemistry is magical, intoxicating. Gerard Butler, the guy from PS I Love You, he will always live as that character inside my mind. It is not that I am crazy about that movie, but there was this thing about it, I'll tell you. After her husband dies, suddenly, poor young Hillary Swank has nowhere to go. After his funeral she keeps calling her dead husband's phone to listen to his voice on the answering machine, to cheat herself to sleep. That is the scene I can't get over, because missing someone is such a desperate feeling, it has been giving me this headache for days now, my appetite is dead.
When I loved, I loved with total surrender. I let things happen to me. I let all my guards down. I din't care if it was really worth it. I din't care if the consequences of love, the estrangement, could be self-destructive. And it took some passion to do that, I tell you. Loving like an Angel. Words fall short, words can't ever describe the madness, the will to go to any extent for the sake of love. Letting some stranger of a person, into your life, giving him every single right to hurt you, in all the ways possible, is not just worth it, it is also Wrong.
Yeah, wrong. I should have held on to myself longer. I should have sharpened my defenses. I should have never let him in. I should have never got myself hurt, this hurt. May be I should have thought about the consequences. I should have never loved.
When I loved, I loved with total surrender. I let things happen to me. I let all my guards down. I din't care if it was really worth it. I din't care if the consequences of love, the estrangement, could be self-destructive. And it took some passion to do that, I tell you. Loving like an Angel. Words fall short, words can't ever describe the madness, the will to go to any extent for the sake of love. Letting some stranger of a person, into your life, giving him every single right to hurt you, in all the ways possible, is not just worth it, it is also Wrong.
Yeah, wrong. I should have held on to myself longer. I should have sharpened my defenses. I should have never let him in. I should have never got myself hurt, this hurt. May be I should have thought about the consequences. I should have never loved.
awkward silences;
You are my dream, my most imperative dream; I need this dream for my survival; all my life I've done little besides waiting for you; finding you was my one wish; I was almost dead when I couldn't find you; almost; that is how much you mean to me; you wouldn't ever fathom those depths of my obsession; my wait that seemed to last forever; my hidden fears of not reaching you; of returning empty handed from your threshold; you have no idea; you never will know how much I have yearned; the culmination of my every single desire is you.
But when you're before my eyes, even in the flow of our innumerable meaningless conversations, sometimes creeps in an awkward silence; a pause I fear will lengthen into an end or something of that sort; this makes me hate those awkward silences so much and get scared of them allthemore; those moments pass in the slowest of manners possible; every moment making our subconsciouses ask each other, now what?
When our mouths stop talking, our minds start talking; in those moments of the awkward silence. Sometime, mine might even tell yours, just how much I have wanted you.
But when you're before my eyes, even in the flow of our innumerable meaningless conversations, sometimes creeps in an awkward silence; a pause I fear will lengthen into an end or something of that sort; this makes me hate those awkward silences so much and get scared of them allthemore; those moments pass in the slowest of manners possible; every moment making our subconsciouses ask each other, now what?
When our mouths stop talking, our minds start talking; in those moments of the awkward silence. Sometime, mine might even tell yours, just how much I have wanted you.
Deodra
Deodra sat with her cheek pressed to the glass wall, staring at the lights outside, waitingfor her sandwiches to arrive. Outside was cold, like it had just stopped snowing, the first snow of the season, and people were out after hours. Cars glided up the ramp like sleepy unruly children, and she looked on. Waiting for a stranger's face to catch. It happens, doesn't it sometimes, that you capture the glance of a stray man walking on the street, and the both of you cannot look away for a fraction of a minute. There are a few questions in both the pairs of eyes, curiosity becomes an irrational fixation, for that fraction of the minute. And then you obviously look away, because it gets difficult to hold on for longer, Deodra was myopic anyway. She was waiting for that stranger to pass by, but her sandwiches came before he did, the dream broke.
Later she walked back the lanes of her hilly town, to the shack she called home, you could see her from behind. The minor sway of her hips, against the background of grey, the hands hanging in the air, free, making moves, surprising her mundane observer. Purple flowers hung from the roofs on either side, Deodra's hands would brush past their petals, just to capture a moment of a smooth sensation, like an infatuation for the most infinitesimal time. Her ears missed a few whispers in the air, like in a trance, she walked possessed by an unknown force, in gay abandon. She serenaded, only you couldn't hear the tunes.
She had so many secrets to tell. She had so many secrets to keep. Her secrets made Deodra beautiful. The air around her, would make her mundane observer realize more with every second, how much was yet to be known. How much would never be known. So many confessions to be made, lies to be undone.. but she would let them be. Today, they would die with her.
Mysterious curls of hair covered the sides of her face, and she wouldn't toss them back. She would let them be. Her eyes would peep from between the strands..
The storm had settled, snow was being wiped off the street on both sides, the purple flowers hung on, and Deodra walked away..
Later she walked back the lanes of her hilly town, to the shack she called home, you could see her from behind. The minor sway of her hips, against the background of grey, the hands hanging in the air, free, making moves, surprising her mundane observer. Purple flowers hung from the roofs on either side, Deodra's hands would brush past their petals, just to capture a moment of a smooth sensation, like an infatuation for the most infinitesimal time. Her ears missed a few whispers in the air, like in a trance, she walked possessed by an unknown force, in gay abandon. She serenaded, only you couldn't hear the tunes.
She had so many secrets to tell. She had so many secrets to keep. Her secrets made Deodra beautiful. The air around her, would make her mundane observer realize more with every second, how much was yet to be known. How much would never be known. So many confessions to be made, lies to be undone.. but she would let them be. Today, they would die with her.
Mysterious curls of hair covered the sides of her face, and she wouldn't toss them back. She would let them be. Her eyes would peep from between the strands..
The storm had settled, snow was being wiped off the street on both sides, the purple flowers hung on, and Deodra walked away..
yasp 8
Everytime you forget to call, I am gonna patiently wait for you..without freaking out
I am gonna keep reminding you, honey, until you remember
And I am gonna beam when you smile in return
I won't let go easy, not so easy, ever again..
As I blush under your glance
I promise, I am gonna make sure
That we are happy, with each other
That at the end of the day,
We would be dying to see each other again
And share all that happened day through
And we would go for walks, long ones
But I swear darl, we wills top when you want.. :)
whenever, wherever
Stingy nomore,
Now I am ready to pay the price of love
Nah, I'm jus kiddin~!
PS: U know what yasp is for right!?
I am gonna keep reminding you, honey, until you remember
And I am gonna beam when you smile in return
I won't let go easy, not so easy, ever again..
As I blush under your glance
I promise, I am gonna make sure
That we are happy, with each other
That at the end of the day,
We would be dying to see each other again
And share all that happened day through
And we would go for walks, long ones
But I swear darl, we wills top when you want.. :)
whenever, wherever
Stingy nomore,
Now I am ready to pay the price of love
Nah, I'm jus kiddin~!
PS: U know what yasp is for right!?
sloshed.
My Dear Daughter,
I don't know if you will ever read this, but right now I have to make a confession, to you.This moment, 1:06 pm, July 11th, 2010, I hate myself. And I want you never to become the person I am now. Because until yesterday I always thought being like me is the best thing, wild & free. But looks like those things lead to bad things that make you write to your future/non-existent daughters. So I am making a correction.
I have driven my life to a point from where I have nowhere to go. I am not depressed. But honestly, I know no direction in which I can head. I am not confused, I am sure that I have reached rock bottom. And so I am writing this letter to you. Become anyone but me, sweetie.
Following free will is good I thought. I never drew lines because I found drawing lines the hardest thing. I dictated the rules of my life. Or rather I had no rules. But that I realize is not the best idea. I have so many skeletons in the closet that it will burst open any moment now. And no matter how liberal you are, and however determined you are never to regret, never to be guilty of your actions, you wouldn't be able to help yourself.
I don't know if one day you will be for real, because I have begun believing that I don't deserve good things like you in my life. But one day, if I have you, if at all, we are going to have this long conversation, we are probably going to draw some lines for you. Probably.
Love,..
Your future Mom..
I don't know if you will ever read this, but right now I have to make a confession, to you.This moment, 1:06 pm, July 11th, 2010, I hate myself. And I want you never to become the person I am now. Because until yesterday I always thought being like me is the best thing, wild & free. But looks like those things lead to bad things that make you write to your future/non-existent daughters. So I am making a correction.
I have driven my life to a point from where I have nowhere to go. I am not depressed. But honestly, I know no direction in which I can head. I am not confused, I am sure that I have reached rock bottom. And so I am writing this letter to you. Become anyone but me, sweetie.
Following free will is good I thought. I never drew lines because I found drawing lines the hardest thing. I dictated the rules of my life. Or rather I had no rules. But that I realize is not the best idea. I have so many skeletons in the closet that it will burst open any moment now. And no matter how liberal you are, and however determined you are never to regret, never to be guilty of your actions, you wouldn't be able to help yourself.
I don't know if one day you will be for real, because I have begun believing that I don't deserve good things like you in my life. But one day, if I have you, if at all, we are going to have this long conversation, we are probably going to draw some lines for you. Probably.
Love,..
Your future Mom..
rela\pse
It takes getting used to. Words change their meanings. Sometimes you don't know if there is anything left you could still talk about. The set of your topics shrinks so much. The change is unbearably abrupt. Nah! it is quite bearable, but having a relapse is just too tempting. The boundaries of human patience are pushed to degrees where they just might give away. It is ridiculous I know, but loneliness eats into your cerebellum. It gets so fucking pathetic that it could kill your being. Memories make frequent visits, like unwanted guests.
Love has all these tantrums before it empties your heart. Like a tenant that never paid any rent and wouldn't get out either. You chose to end it because it wouldn't go anywhere. You chose to end it because you thought you deserved better than the ache.
You chose to end it and tried so much, so much to make life normal and possible without love. You would get back to smoking if it gave you another mere engagement. You talked to walls. You cried your pillow wet when alone, screamed at friends who had no idea what the hell you were going through. All that, just to move on. But even after all that self imposed penance, a relapse seems so easy. So easy, what soft putty are human hearts made of, tell me somebody!
It takes getting used to. It takes time, and quite a lot of it.
Love has all these tantrums before it empties your heart. Like a tenant that never paid any rent and wouldn't get out either. You chose to end it because it wouldn't go anywhere. You chose to end it because you thought you deserved better than the ache.
You chose to end it and tried so much, so much to make life normal and possible without love. You would get back to smoking if it gave you another mere engagement. You talked to walls. You cried your pillow wet when alone, screamed at friends who had no idea what the hell you were going through. All that, just to move on. But even after all that self imposed penance, a relapse seems so easy. So easy, what soft putty are human hearts made of, tell me somebody!
It takes getting used to. It takes time, and quite a lot of it.
Terminal.
She looked me in the eye. Held me with them for a few seconds before looking away. She must have been thinking about this deeply. About me, deeply. I felt like asking her if I was troubled for real. Then that urge got very urgent. As she was looking away, she looked peaceful. Strands of long shiny hair fell on her face, she didn't care enough to tuck them behind her ears. It was sunny and windy. And when it is both sunny and windy, there is always an impending danger in the air. I came back to my coffee.
This had been happening for the last two months with me. May, June and now consistently running into its third, July. Every morning after opening my eyes, I felt a constant aching pain. Initially it was but obvious, the hurt after the accident. It stayed for the morning, disappeared by lunch. Sometimes when I got busy, I would totally forget about the pain. Later I would have to squeeze myself to find out if it still pained. By the time dusk appeared, it would find its way back to me. Definitely; without fail. Late in the night it would make me weep, curse myself. I would make promises to myself not to drag this any further and visit the doc the first thing in the morning.
Meanwhile, I changed six doctors. They would tell me nothing is the problem with me. They would ask me to engage my mind in other things. In anything I want to. But not think about the pain. Not worry about it the way I did. I failed in explaining to them, how on earth was I supposed to not think of it while it was the only thing irking the insides of my mind. Thinking wasn't as voluntary a process as they thought, I thought. They would tell me that I was just fine, I knew I wasn't. So I changed them. My table was cluttered with empty bottles of tonics, strips of tablets, prescriptions, my test reports. When I looked at them I felt sick. Very sick.
People I knew, started looking at me as someone who had been ill for years. Their concerns felt nosy sometimes, relieving some other times, indifferent the rest of the time. But they always felt obvious, like I was meant to be asked about my illness. Everyone knew. Many asked me what the hell the problem was. And wanted me to get a serious doc. Suggestions too came pouring in. Those helped me switching doctors.
I called my doctors up, they would stop taking my calls. They wouldn't return them even in the rarest of chances. When this happened, I got scared. Scared because, I had a disease, they didn't have a cure for. I would die.I was terminal. And they were avoiding me. So I called on her, and stared at her, at her hair fly in the windy sunny morning. Waiting to ask her if I would live.
This had been happening for the last two months with me. May, June and now consistently running into its third, July. Every morning after opening my eyes, I felt a constant aching pain. Initially it was but obvious, the hurt after the accident. It stayed for the morning, disappeared by lunch. Sometimes when I got busy, I would totally forget about the pain. Later I would have to squeeze myself to find out if it still pained. By the time dusk appeared, it would find its way back to me. Definitely; without fail. Late in the night it would make me weep, curse myself. I would make promises to myself not to drag this any further and visit the doc the first thing in the morning.
Meanwhile, I changed six doctors. They would tell me nothing is the problem with me. They would ask me to engage my mind in other things. In anything I want to. But not think about the pain. Not worry about it the way I did. I failed in explaining to them, how on earth was I supposed to not think of it while it was the only thing irking the insides of my mind. Thinking wasn't as voluntary a process as they thought, I thought. They would tell me that I was just fine, I knew I wasn't. So I changed them. My table was cluttered with empty bottles of tonics, strips of tablets, prescriptions, my test reports. When I looked at them I felt sick. Very sick.
People I knew, started looking at me as someone who had been ill for years. Their concerns felt nosy sometimes, relieving some other times, indifferent the rest of the time. But they always felt obvious, like I was meant to be asked about my illness. Everyone knew. Many asked me what the hell the problem was. And wanted me to get a serious doc. Suggestions too came pouring in. Those helped me switching doctors.
I called my doctors up, they would stop taking my calls. They wouldn't return them even in the rarest of chances. When this happened, I got scared. Scared because, I had a disease, they didn't have a cure for. I would die.I was terminal. And they were avoiding me. So I called on her, and stared at her, at her hair fly in the windy sunny morning. Waiting to ask her if I would live.
Abandoned
The first time you left me, I was angry. My uncontrollable rage wouldn't even let me ask for your reason. I was mad at me and my fate because of which I lost you. I kept asking myself, how could anyone forget anyone so easily? Was forgetting that easy a process after all? Teach me someone! Because I have serious problems forgetting certain people in my life. So many why's popped up inside my head, but my heart was ashamed. I cried myself to sleep, bit my lips, trying to overcome this unknown emotion, but I didn't try to confront you. Rather I stared at the horizon, waiting hopelessly for time to answer my questions.
The second time you abandoned me, I was almost in love with you. I was heartbroken. I wouldn't look at my face in the mirror because somewhere deep down I felt it was because of me that you had left me. I was the reason, for the betrayal, for my own estrangement. Some undiscovered flaw in me, or a pretty obvious one had made you hate me. I looked into myself, I got lost. I kept blaming myself, I wanted to cure the flaw, call you back, at any cost. I was so distressed, I indulged. In long walks, got lost amongst strangers, kept taking pictures to keep my mind off you. My life froze, completely. There was no way I could console myself. I was heartbroken.
The third time you left without a notice, I was expecting to see your face the first thing in the morning, probably give you a good morning kiss. A moist one, with the remnants of the dreams that I had seen in the night, of us. But you had left. Then I went on an indiscriminate shopping spree. At the end of the day it dawned on me that you are only incredibly stupid. Incredibly stupid to leave me. Or may be you are a trifle insane too. So this time around, I let you leave.
The second time you abandoned me, I was almost in love with you. I was heartbroken. I wouldn't look at my face in the mirror because somewhere deep down I felt it was because of me that you had left me. I was the reason, for the betrayal, for my own estrangement. Some undiscovered flaw in me, or a pretty obvious one had made you hate me. I looked into myself, I got lost. I kept blaming myself, I wanted to cure the flaw, call you back, at any cost. I was so distressed, I indulged. In long walks, got lost amongst strangers, kept taking pictures to keep my mind off you. My life froze, completely. There was no way I could console myself. I was heartbroken.
The third time you left without a notice, I was expecting to see your face the first thing in the morning, probably give you a good morning kiss. A moist one, with the remnants of the dreams that I had seen in the night, of us. But you had left. Then I went on an indiscriminate shopping spree. At the end of the day it dawned on me that you are only incredibly stupid. Incredibly stupid to leave me. Or may be you are a trifle insane too. So this time around, I let you leave.
sos!
I was looking for a decent get away, an alibi that could arrest my mind and keep it out of my bounds. My present state of life, was eating into it, ravenously. And it had to make desperate attempts to save itself. Desperate desperate attempts. So I locked myself in a room and began watching Desperate Housewives. Season after season, mornings, afternoons, latenights, evenings..I passively glared at the screen, into the lives of the four most bitchiest women.
They have every possible scandal rocking their lives, extra-martial affairs, wild sex lives, paralyzing divorces, runaway teenage kids, murderous husbands, murdered husbands, boyfriends who murdered those husbands, jailed husbands, relapses into ex-lovers, suicidal neighbors, darkest secrets to keep, talking neighbors, somewhere a surplus of kids, somewhere infertility, struggling marriages, sleepless nights, dinner parties, drinking problems, jeopardized work-lives, money, lots of it and last but not the least, that impossible wish and will to keep things under control, the obsession to drug the mind that they can manage it all. I am awed.
Sometimes, to escape your own unhappiness, you need to know that others around you are unhappy too. This is where it clicked for me. When I peeked into their lives, I know they are all unreal, even then, I got to know just that, there is so much unhappiness around me. Each one is desperate enough to escape it. And is making desperate desperate attempts to save their lives. And why? Ain't you even doing that?
For the uninformed: sos! is for Save Our Souls
They have every possible scandal rocking their lives, extra-martial affairs, wild sex lives, paralyzing divorces, runaway teenage kids, murderous husbands, murdered husbands, boyfriends who murdered those husbands, jailed husbands, relapses into ex-lovers, suicidal neighbors, darkest secrets to keep, talking neighbors, somewhere a surplus of kids, somewhere infertility, struggling marriages, sleepless nights, dinner parties, drinking problems, jeopardized work-lives, money, lots of it and last but not the least, that impossible wish and will to keep things under control, the obsession to drug the mind that they can manage it all. I am awed.
Sometimes, to escape your own unhappiness, you need to know that others around you are unhappy too. This is where it clicked for me. When I peeked into their lives, I know they are all unreal, even then, I got to know just that, there is so much unhappiness around me. Each one is desperate enough to escape it. And is making desperate desperate attempts to save their lives. And why? Ain't you even doing that?
onyourfeet
it had been drizling all day long, she had stayed home, listening to ridiculous music
the day was decent, a broken leg, cereal for breakfast, cereal for lunch
the only oddity was that two old acquaintances had called and were sorry to listen about the leg
the accident that is,
it's unnerving how some incident, silly incident could turn life upside down
upside down for sometime, after which it certainly returned to normal
a new kind of normal that is, a normalcy with a certain realizations in place
she was walking across the road to get detergent, a mundane thing like detergent!
what was she thinking? problems at work, stupid boss, a stagnating resume
lack of time, she hadn't talked to her folks, for days
the guy in her life wasn't ready to move ahead, not even an inch
she was entangled, forgetting that it could get worse
only it did..
crossing the highway was like a favorite passtime, twice, thrice she did it
when someone made her wait for long, it was child's play
but who knew? who knew, she would get hit running across the street
to get detergent, she did her laundry at home, by herself, she loved the smell of clean things.
for the last two weeks, she stayed home like a log of wood, staring out of the window
wondering why had it happened, did it happen at all? wasn't this just a nightmare?
but as time passed, more of it, it settled into her, the gravity of the crashlanding
and that how much more better off she was than this
at least she wasn't stuck as literally as this..
it is pathetic, yes for the lack of a harsher word
how we never realise what we have until we lose it (with the understandable exception of body weight!)
like her leg, temporarily though
i hope she gets back on her feet, with some realisation, the only hard earned fruit of life
until she loses it obviously again, and life screws her only harder so that she earns it once again
you see..life is such a viscious cycle! duh!
I am writing this for the lack of a better engagement, at 4 o'clock in the night. Excuse me if you didn't get it or got bored as hell.
the day was decent, a broken leg, cereal for breakfast, cereal for lunch
the only oddity was that two old acquaintances had called and were sorry to listen about the leg
the accident that is,
it's unnerving how some incident, silly incident could turn life upside down
upside down for sometime, after which it certainly returned to normal
a new kind of normal that is, a normalcy with a certain realizations in place
she was walking across the road to get detergent, a mundane thing like detergent!
what was she thinking? problems at work, stupid boss, a stagnating resume
lack of time, she hadn't talked to her folks, for days
the guy in her life wasn't ready to move ahead, not even an inch
she was entangled, forgetting that it could get worse
only it did..
crossing the highway was like a favorite passtime, twice, thrice she did it
when someone made her wait for long, it was child's play
but who knew? who knew, she would get hit running across the street
to get detergent, she did her laundry at home, by herself, she loved the smell of clean things.
for the last two weeks, she stayed home like a log of wood, staring out of the window
wondering why had it happened, did it happen at all? wasn't this just a nightmare?
but as time passed, more of it, it settled into her, the gravity of the crashlanding
and that how much more better off she was than this
at least she wasn't stuck as literally as this..
it is pathetic, yes for the lack of a harsher word
how we never realise what we have until we lose it (with the understandable exception of body weight!)
like her leg, temporarily though
i hope she gets back on her feet, with some realisation, the only hard earned fruit of life
until she loses it obviously again, and life screws her only harder so that she earns it once again
you see..life is such a viscious cycle! duh!
I am writing this for the lack of a better engagement, at 4 o'clock in the night. Excuse me if you didn't get it or got bored as hell.
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