Do you not get it? Is it that hard? And the anatomy of my affection so inconceivably difficult to unravel? It isn't. 

It's rather simple. Honest and uncomplicated. And you're not naive yourself. So don't flatter yourself yet. Not now, not ever. 

Don't flatter yourself with the sole assumption that I am in love with you. I am not. Can never be. 

I busy my mind with your thoughts, force feed the imaginative future that I may come to live in with you someday, because, baby, I am only trying to run away from myself. Yeah.

You see, I am this obnoxiously obsessed woman who cannot stop thinking and constantly needs something for her mind to feed on. Anything, at all. Like they say gastric acids eat up the stomach walls if there's no food, a similar force of self-destruction is my underlying. And if I don't think about you, proxima centauri, some extinct mesozoic reptile, or you, nothing would stop me from thinking about myself. 

And thinking about myself, is fatal. That's why I pretend to love you. To convince myself that it's not yet time to take the self seriously. So don't just flatter yourself. And boast about getting me off your back. Hah! You've no idea. 


Syed Ali Hamid said...

Isn't this pretence serious thinking when it's not meant to hide anything?

Surya Prakash V said...

So you do know what love is?

I have seen this before. The other keeps you grounded from crashing into the sun. One just doesn't know which is sadder.

Then again this halo, no one knows why it's there, but everyone knows it's time to sing. Dance perhaps, and smile for sure. This halo that has, you know, a ring. Fingers crossed, with other, and the spawn of a new night, new day, everyday.

One just doesnt know which is sadder; the choice or lack of it.

Surya Prakash V said...

So do you really know what love is? How well do you really know what you deny? Should you want a baby?

This is not a challenge of course; just a question of what separates the races, the sexes, the ages and the beings.

I see nothing standing between. I see every emotion play a game to give way to a feeling; your own but born of the "other".

Should we want a baby to know? How well do we know what we deny? What if there is nothing to deny as to accept? Who is a "other"?

Surya Prakash V said...

I killed it again. The same bug. In it's millionth body. A million times hence, I might be the wiser; I rest my grinding axe; look at what I made an enemy from. Watch my bleeding hand; look at the self cutting the self; to pieces. But alas, not lose it.

Tomorrow I shall seek it again, when my hand is healed, not lament it's death; the same axe, for a million times hence!

Amrita Sabat said...

Wow....serious super stuff. It's explosive wid no dynamite. How the soul explodes and all the pent-up insanity flows out....simply mind-blowing.