Monday, June 10, 2013
Friday, June 7, 2013
This tradition though, I shall keep at. Every year. Hopefully.
Both of us know how important words are. How much they mean to both of us. And how sometimes, they make the best gifts, barring hugs. And yes, we don't really keep in touch. And yes, we end up complaining about the same things way too much. And yes we might disagree on a lot of things (SMOKING). But we also agree on a lot of things too (that whatsapp smiley is awesome, walks are good etc).
Your last birthday letter is pinned up on my board at home. And the notebook you gave me travels everywhere with me. It doesn't smell like coffee anymore, but it's full of my favourite words.
I miss you, and think of you a lot. Who else will come and steal food from me when she has run out of money because she ate one too many times at a fancy place? Who else will I make coffee for when I am saving milk for breakfast the next day? Who else will I take long, conversation-filled walks with? And who else will calm me down when I need someone after 48 hours of no sleep (you know what I'm talking about)?
So here's a birthday note from me to you.
Have a great day, love.
With lots of tight hugs,
Your teddy bear.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
The clouds whisper
Listen close, listen well
And you will hear the stories they tell
Of the ever-expanding sky
Of the horizon they own
Of the exploits of the wind
Of the heartbreaks of the stars
Stretch your hands out
And just maybe
They will let you touch them
Grey, blue, white
Monday, May 27, 2013
You are the promise of rain
When it's coming
But you know not when
You are confusion
Thunder and lightning
Fire and electricity
You are a hurricane
Of doubts and fears
You are a black hole
Imperfect and flawed
You are everything
Monday, May 20, 2013
A sheet under a tree on a breezy evening. Me, leaning against said tree, reading. Or proofing/editing what could possibly be the next big bestseller. You lying with your head on my lap. Dozing or reading or listening to music. Or even just daydreaming.
A comfortable four-poster bed. With a massive and extremely soft blanket. Us cozy under said blanket, watching something on a laptop or on the BIG TV.
You are lounging on a sofa. Channel surfing. And I am on the floor, resting against the sofa, reading or working. Your hand is lazily playing with my hair.
The one thing common in all these things is how comfortable it all is. Feels as natural as breathing. It's just the presence of you that is important. What you are doing is irrelevant. It's familiar, it's warm, it's a feeling of home.
Because being with you, is like being home.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Completely, truly vulnerable
All one has
All one is
You might see me without my clothes.
But only I can choose when you can truly see me naked.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Two hundred posts. And four years of writing. About fifty posts per year, four posts per month, on average. That's quite a bit if you break it down.
And again, after thinking about it for the longest time and drawing a complete blank, I am just going to say that I am thankful.
For books. For language. For the ability to translate to writing all, okay, most of the thoughts that swirl around in this head of mine; for the ability to string together a coherent sentence. For an outlet. For communication and conversation. For poetry and art. For inspiration. For thought itself. For great thinkers and authors. For the ability to remember and record. For memory. For colour and light. For pictures. For technology.
I am thankful, for words. They are all I have. All I ever will have.
Four years, two hundred posts, and a never-ending journey of discovery.
Here is to you, dear blog.
Here is to me.