Saturday, December 29, 2012


I sense an emptiness around me
It echoes the emptiness I feel inside
One that I have been ignoring

In the silence that surrounds me
My thoughts pour in
Filling the spaces
The nooks and crannies
Of my being

Fragments of poems
Places to visit
Pictures, photographs
Quotes, dialogues
Movies to watch
Books to read

All rushing over each other
Around each other
Waves crashing on the shore
Raindrops falling
Freeflowing sand through fingers

They do nothing
Mean nothing and everything

While around me
There is still

Thursday, December 27, 2012

Of honey eyes
And moonlight waltzes
Whispered desires
Hands clasped
Fingers entwined

Whisky and wine
White sand
The night sky
Murmurs and silence

With talks of the tides
Of love and friendship
Plans and promises
Tunes hummed
Wishes sent to the universe
On the crests of the waves

Of honey eyes
And moonlight waltzes

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

As night falls
And the warm embrace of sleep beckons
I say 'good night, my love'

I hear you fall asleep
Drifting away
Your breathing settling
Into a familiar pattern
Your cares forgotten
Worries left behind

And I smile to myself
For soon we will meet
Because what are dreams
But connections transcending space and time?
And together we will walk
If only
In the land of the night

Monday, December 17, 2012

There is something about the stars that just makes everything okay.

When I look at the stars, splattered across the pitch-black sky like an artist just flicked her paint-filled brush across it, their very disorder reassures me. The very chaos of those tiny pin points of light makes me feel like it's okay for crazy to exist. Because as humans, we found order even in that chaos. We made ourselves believe they formed shapes and gave names and characteristics to them and even made multiple sciences out of their study. If we could fool ourselves into believing that the very stars have order, then finding order in our lives is child's play.

The science behind the birth and the death of stars and knowing that their light reaches us so very long after it leaves the star itself is fascinating. That sometimes the stars we see aren't even stars but just memories of them, with their light reaching us long after they die.

The most important thing I see when I look at a starry sky is my own insignificance. Compared to the endless magnitude of the sky and the trillions of stars it, who am I really? My life and issues seem so very unnecessary. When I look down at the tiny amount of physical space that I occupy in this planet and then compare it to the sheer infinity of the night sky and the stars in it, I realise how very worthless I am in the great scheme of things.

Those stars are a reality check.

I wish I could see the stars in Bangalore more often.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

I can't seem to be able look at my hands anymore. Every time my eyes stray towards my fingers, as I type these words out, as I'm riding my scooter, as I raise my spoon to my lips, I avert them. Because I just can't look at them.

They remind me of how I broke everything. How I dashed it all to pieces against the ground. They remind me of sandcastles in the air which I crushed. Of dreams I built so carefully and then tore into fragments, each flying in a different direction.

They remind me how weak I am, can be. They remind me how I cut myself when I tried to pick the pieces up and how I gave up because it hurt too much. They remind me that the thing those pieces were part of wasn't mine to break, wasn't mine to destroy.

My hands, my fingers, they remind me of what I let go of. What I used to hold on to so tightly. They remind me how you used to fit and how I let you go. They remind me of the things I used to write, the crumpled papers and the letters. They remind me of dark movie theatres, of cold nights and how your pocket was always warmer than mine.

The chewed up cuticles remind me of a deal we made.

The veins on the back of my hand don't stick out any more because now all I have to hold on to is empty air.

I cannot look at my hands anymore. They remind me of you too much.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Waltz to the sound of the waves
Feel the sand between your toes
The smell of the sea
The music of the tides

Take in the power of the moon
As every day she calls
And the waves fall over each other
To do her bidding

Inexorable, tireless, powerful
Yet drawn every day
By her magic

And as you stand by the sea
With the water lapping at your soles
Just remember,
You are only a tiny grain of sand,
On the vast unending, unbroken expanse of time

Waiting to turn into a wave
When your moon calls

Monday, December 3, 2012

In the story Hansel and Gretel, the kids left breadcrumbs to mark the route they were taking. A path they could retrace. In the Greek story of Theseus and the Minotaur, he unravelled a ball of string as he entered the maze so that he could find his way out after killing the monster.

I function with a similar idea, only I do the opposite. I collect breadcrumbs. A spool of thread of sorts. I collect bits and pieces from places I go to, things I experience. So that later, when I need to find my way back to that moment, and my memory doesn't serve me well enough, I have a token to help me along. A bill, a stone from the pot outside the restaurant, a plastic spoon from the ice-cream parlour, a leaf from the tree I was standing under. Small things, all of them. Junk is what others would call it. But for me, they're memories. Yes I know about memories and encapsulating a perfect moment in your head and no one can take that away. But I also use these tiny things as my personal guide, scrapbook, the thread through the maze I call life.

Which is also why I love photographs. Which is why I write down thoughts. All of these things together form an account of my life.

It is foolish to attach meaning to these material things. These transient objects which could break, fade, get lost. But well, I do it. They mark the moments of my life I'd like to remember. A guide to finding that moment in my head.

So I collect, I store, I hoard, I remember.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

When poems are finally finished
Joined and mended
With glue and tape and everything else that is at hand

When old dreams grow
And fit better
Grow more snug

When you smile
Because you want to.
With no pretense
No masks
No lies

When you realise
You are more
Than you thought
Or even imagined
You were

When you know
That you can go on
And even when life knocks you down
You will get up

When your castles in the air crumble
But you still have the courage
And the hope
To build them back up again

When guilt is a permanent part
Of your very being
Part of the air you breathe
The fabric of your life
And you can make your peace with it
Accept it, instead of forgetting

You know.
You. Just. Know.

Thursday, November 22, 2012

I think more people should smile more. Enough people have said it enough times in enough ways. But what I mean is that more people should make it a habit to smile at a stranger. We are so full of suspicion and skepticism nowadays that we never make an effort to just smile and all it takes is a second.

I tried it today while I was riding to work. I smiled at a random person while I was stuck at an intersection waiting for the signal to change. And this person smiled back at me. It was so simple, so pure. And it left me feeling happy for the rest of that day. I know it wouldn't work all the time and that most people would probably react with puzzlement or indifference. But hey, it's a nice thing to do. And who knows you might just make someone else's day.

And I think this would work best in the mornings, when everyone is unhappy about having to go to work or angry about traffic or just generally pissed off.

Give it a shot. It doesn't hurt.

Monday, November 19, 2012

I'm a night person. I love the dark. It's scary yes, but there's also something comforting about it.

The night makes everything look different. Shadows play around under streetlights. Owls perch on broken branches, feasting, awake. The water grows still and quiet. The world goes to sleep and it's like everything is holding a collective breath. The night opens up a whole new world.

Its silence is when you cannot escape the thoughts in your head, drown them out with work and traffic, push them away for more important things. The night is when the moon comes out, a reflection of the Sun's brightness yet so much more beautiful. The stars come out and on those rare nights you can see them you realise how tiny and insignificant you are in the giant scheme of things. The night is quiet and loud at the same time, peaceful outside with tornadoes within.

The night is made for conversations. For silences awkward and comfortable. It is made for intimacy, for togetherness, for peace in another's arms. The night brings lovers together as only darkness can, wholly and completely.

The night can be beautiful and eerie. Cold yet amazing.

Another reason the night is my favourite time of the day? It begins with a sunset and ends with a sunrise.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

In the absolute quiet
Thoughts speak the loudest
When only the crickets awake
The doubts creep in
Under cloudy starless skies
Confusion abounds within
When the darkness beckons
What can the mind do but give in?

We learn from experience. Make mistakes and learn never to repeat them. Hindsight.

But sometimes people find themselves in unusual situations. Things which are out of the ordinary. And when people find themselves in unusual situations they fall back on experience and try dealing with the unusualness in a usual way. Because by their very definition, unusual situations are things which don't usually happen, which means that there isn't anything to really fall back on.

The smart thing to do would be to learn to deal with unusual situations the way they should be dealt with - unusually. And in the process learn, grow and evolve. To find a new way to deal with a new thing.

If only we were smarter.

Monday, November 12, 2012

When you flip a coin to decide between two things you really want, it doesn't really matter what the coin finally says. The real way to know what you truly want is that millisecond while the coin is in the air, spinning and falling. In that moment you know what you WISH the coin would be and that right there is your answer.

It's something I remember seeing in a movie and I don't even remember which one. But it makes way too much sense to be forgotten. And it works, I've tried it.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Life is like an orange. It has these segments, these parts, separate but part of a whole. And every segment is made up of moments, countless small moments which give it character and flavour.

You might think that it's easy to separate each of these segments, and enjoy it in isolation, but it doesn't work like that.

Because everything is interconnected. The segments, the pulp, the white skin which is so hard to swallow, all of it together encased in this thing called the universe. And unless you enjoy it all together, there is no real happiness. Unless you squeeze every bit of juice out of all of it, there is no real fulfilment.

Friday, November 9, 2012

It is said that the only way you can truly love someone else is if you love yourself first. Easy to say, isn't it?

What about when the very fact that you love someone makes you then hate yourself? How are you supposed to love yourself when you have done something reprehensible and then you realise that you don't care that you have? How does it even work when you look into a mirror every morning and see everything you hate about yourself? Embrace your flaws they say. Hah!

How do you face yourself in the mirror every day when whatever you see isn't good enough? How are you supposed to reconcile yourself to the fact that you have turned into one thing you hate - a hypocrite? How do you ever give yourself a chance when all that ever does is cause the most important people in your life pain? We are supposed to learn from our mistakes, but what if the very mistake we made was to give ourselves a chance? What then?

Self-love isn't easy. And most of the time it doesn't even work. Hmph.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Quotable quote and all that

Life is all about getting used to doing things you do not want to do. - Yours truly

Wednesday, November 7, 2012


I never believed in magic. I'm the logical type, you see. Magic is for the children, for fairy tales and poems, for the weak who console themselves with lies.

But how wrong am I. I could not have been farther from the truth.

Magic exists. All it takes is a moment, and it's there, staring you in the face.

I experienced magic this weekend at NH7 Weekender in Pune. I saw it envelop me, caress me, carry me away. For one weekend, I went on a vacation I will never forget. Back to a place that was my home away from home for three years but now is just a place I can visit once in a while. I met old friends, people who grew with me, around me. I made new friends, in the most unexpected way, people who have changed me for good. I walked down the corridors I trudged along for three years. Met those people who structured my life, gave it direction. And I attended India's happiest music festival. They don't call it that for nothing.

I stood mesmerised as musicians spun magic with their words, their tunes, their instruments. I danced along as they carried me away on clouds of joy. I ran from The Dewarists stage to the Other stage, pushing and jostling for the best view. I screamed myself hoarse and head-banged till my neck hurt. I didn't sleep. I was happy. And that's all that mattered. From Kailasa to the Raghu Dixit Project, from Shrilektric to the Karsh Kale Collectiv, from Trilok Gurtu to Seun Kuti, from Agam to Thermal and a Quarter, from Alien Chutney to the Bombay Bicycle Club, from the Manganiyar Seduction by Roysten Abel to Swanand and Shantanu; every single one of them together wove a collective spell that made me leave the world behind and disappear into a land of happiness and magic.

Leaving that festival behind and saying goodbye to old friends and new was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Experiencing such magic and then having to leave it all behind was insanely difficult.

The dream had to end, the spell had to break. But unlike a dream which you barely remember when you wake up, this magic is something I will always carry in my mind. Moments which I will flick through at will to find that magic again. Because those moments were real, they happened and they will always, always be a part of me.

November 2, 3 and 4, 2012, thank you for making me believe in magic again.

Monday, October 22, 2012

I've written before about dialogues that have stuck with me. Either for their truth, their simplicity, their relevance or just the brilliance of the words.

This one just stuck.

"But that doesn't excuse any of it. I'm pond scum. Well, lower actually. I'm like the - the fungus that feeds on pond scum.
Lower. The pus that infects the mucous... that cruds up the fungus... that feeds on the pond scum." - My best friend's wedding

Yes, it's from a chick-flick and yes, I've watched it way too many times to even remember how many times I've watched it.

And this one dialogue stayed. Because there are times when that's what I feel like - pond scum.
It's funny how when things are going well, no one ever bothers to think about the future. The present is just too 'okay'.

But does no one realise that these, the very moments that are 'okay', are the best times to think about what's to come? Because now, when things are fine and the mind is calm, the future isn't as scary or horrible. Now, when the present has fallen into place, you can peacefully look ahead, with the security that even if you see something dark there, the present will keep you sane and strong.

In times of turmoil, when everything seems to be falling apart, that's when the future seems the scariest. And that's the worst time to plan, or to think. When things are going badly now, everything to come seems wrong too. There is too much happening right now, in this very instant, too much to hold together, to be able to make space for what's to come. And that's when it all truly falls apart.

Use the good to prepare and plan, to dream and save. Use the fine, to make things even better.

Friday, August 31, 2012

Dreams are like clothes. People grow out of them. And then they need to be modified a bit for them to fit again. The stitches need to be let out of the pants, maybe a belt needs to be bought, the shirt might have to be mended.

Sometimes though, the old dreams need to be thrown away, even though the oldest things are the most comfortable. It's like throwing away that tattered blankie, or the oversized shirt with holes in it which smells and feels just right. Like old dreams, which don't fit anymore.

Yes, this coming from a hoarder like me is a little contradictory, but I've understood that some things need to go, only to make place for better ones.

So those old dreams, though comfortable and just right, need to go. Or need to be modified, fixed. Whatever makes them fit better.

Because hey, what else do we work towards but making those dreams come true.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

It's four!

I just realised it.

This blog, a dumping ground for my ideas, fears and everything in between, turned four this month. Four years this old thing has been chugging along. Collecting all the bits and pieces I have fed it over the years. Sometimes one post post per month, sometimes none, sometimes more; it has taken it all and stored it away.

A testament to me.

Four long years it has been since I decided I wanted to keep writing. With or without readers. With or without comments.

My first post was on Aug 12, 2008. And it's belated, but HAPPY 4TH BIRTHDAY, THINGS AND THOUGHTS!

And to all of you who have read and commented and stuck with it, thank you.

Here's to you, dear blog.

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Broken poems

Just words so casually spoken

Promises made
Easily forgotten

Hours spent
Watching the seconds tick down

While everyone rushes ahead

Through broken glass

Every sentence measured
Chopped down

A life on hold
Trips never taken
Memories never made

A future
Never to be


Dreams locked away
The key hidden forever

Empty letters
Broken poems

Sunday, July 22, 2012

I am tired

I am tired. Bone tired. I can feel it in my body. In my head.

I am tired of being strong and being the one who's collected and calm all the time. Of struggling every day to keep my sanity. Of holding the world on my shoulders.

I am tired of taking the fall when I don't have to. Of beating myself up over things I never had to even do. Of feeling guilty all the time. Of apologising and taking the blame.

I am tired of waiting. And watching. And waiting some more. Of convincing myself that this is the way things are, when I know they aren't supposed to be this way. Of staying in the same place, stuck in time. Of being patient.

I am tired of counting on someone and having them fail me, every single day. Of making excuses for other people's behaviour. Of cutting everyone slack while keeping my own line completely taut.

I am tired of saying everything is alright when it really truly isn't. Of being an outsider after I have opened my heart. Of always being on the periphery. Of working so hard to please only to be shown that I am worthless and have no place belonging. Of being nobody.

I am tired of getting up every morning after a restless night full of nightmares. Of being angry all the time.

I am tired of reaching out and finding that there is no one there. Of always being there come hail or high water, and not having anyone there for me. Of spilling my guts and having it all completely ignored. Of giving and giving some more while getting nothing in return. Of caring and not being cared for in return. Of loving and not being loved in return.

I am tired of planning, only to have it blow up in my face. Of building, only to have it kicked to smithereens.

I am tired. Inside and out.

I am tired. And I don't know what to do.

Friday, July 13, 2012

There are some things that just come to you out of the blue. I'm sitting at work, reading the news on every website I can think of because that's what my life's work is supposed to be. And for some reason I'm thinking of the movie 'Midnight in Paris'. The one with Owen Wilson.

Owen Wilson's character in the movie wanted to live in the 20's because he felt out of place in the present age. He thought that the 20's were more HIM than the present and he felt disconnected. But then he meets a woman in the 20's who believes that the 1890's were the Golden Age. Given a chance she decides to stay in the 1890's and Owen Wilson's character can't see why because of course, to him the 20's were perfect.

It is the idea of the grass being greener on the other side interpreted differently.

And it makes so much sense. You might think that you belong in an older time or even the future maybe but someone who lives in that particular time probably wants to be somewhere else.

I think we get so caught up in wishing we were anywhere else but the time we are in right now that we forget there just might be a reason we are where we actually are.

Thing is, we probably wouldn't be wishing ourselves in another time if we just knew why exactly we are living in the present time. That is the fundamental issue. Not knowing.

I think I need to start working more. Sigh.

Thursday, July 5, 2012


I feel like I've gone back in time. Like I've reached a point where everything I thought I had fixed, is broken again. A point where everything was wrong. A point that I thought I had left behind, moved on from.

But it's like I'm back. Like I never really left. The journey till now has been a sham, a lie, an illusion, a waste. Because I never really moved on from that point. I followed all the steps, did everything like I was supposed to, made all the choices, took all the shit; all for naught.

I never left. And every single day since then has just been an attempt to escape, to leave, to survive.

Now I feel like I should never have tried. That now, I should just stay. And accept things the way they are - broken, wrong, diseased. I'm tired of trying to leave and move on. I don't have the strength anymore. I do not want to continue mending and dealing.

Maybe it's time to just stop. And accept that things were never mine to change. That my life was never meant to be whole.

That all I have to call mine are empty letters, broken poems and an incomplete future.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

There was this post that a friend came across on Facebook. He sent it to me and it got me thinking.

It said, "After 65 years of being together with her husband an old lady was asked how they did it? She replied, 'we lived in a time when if something broke, we fixed it. We didn't just throw it out.'"

Our generation is too impatient to bother fixing anything. A phone, laptop or relationship. We don't want to invest the time and effort in fixing it. "If it's broken then throw it away." That's our motto.

But we don't realise that there are so many things in life worth fixing. So many things that are actually better when fixed. The cracks and tape tell tales of care, patience and love. The glue and sticky fingers tell of time invested and something saved.

And honestly, the fact that you fixed it just adds to its value.

So I'm gonna fix things. And use all the glue and tape I can. Because just maybe, that fixed mug or mended relationship is worth it.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

What is love made of?

It's the stuff of poems and legends and stories, but what is it really MADE of? Then again, is it really made of some "thing"?

Is it made of stolen kisses in an empty lift? Is it those walks around the park? Is it the SMS conversations that last the whole day? Is it the movies watched together, the plays enjoyed, the concerts attended? Is the playlist that defined so much you couldn't say?

Is it hormones going wild? Ideas which never existed before but suddenly become important? Chemical reactions in the brain? Intangible feelings overly romanticized?

Is it two people tied together inexorably and completely? Is it lust and passion?

Know what I think?

It is made of all this and more.

But essentially, I think love is made of shared breakfasts and lunches and dinners. It is when you miss the other person for something as simple as food.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

It's funny how every single time you think things are okay, something happens just to remind you that they aren't and never were. That you just thought they were okay and that was just the calm before the storm. And that your mind conveniently forgot that the storm was coming. That just because everything looked good and felt good, doesn't mean it actually was good.

Life has a way of reminding you that no matter how hard you try, no matter what you sacrifice, it eventually doesn't matter. Eventually, it is all worthless. Because your wishes and dreams and actions and pain and your very existence are just that.


Tuesday, May 29, 2012


Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

- William Ernest Henley

This poem has always given me goosebumps. Every time I read it. And recently I saw another interpretation of it.

I love the way the poem goes so well with the art. So perfect. And it made me love the poem even more.

What gets me most about this poem is its simplicity. Simple words which communicate so much.
You crouch
And brace yourself
For the impact
Knowing fully well
That it is going to hurt
Very much.

And you close your eyes
Real tight
And you ball your fists

Till the seconds fly by
Till the impact you know is coming

And then...
There is nothing.
You stand up
You're still on the train
And that wall you were supposed to crash into
Doesn't exist

Maybe it did at one point
But it disappeared when you got close

And you look forward
Still on the train
And now you can appreciate the journey even more
Because you know
How close you were to it ending.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012


Remember that train I was talking about?
The one that was going to crash into the concrete wall?
And how I wondered whether it made sense to get off or just enjoy the ride?

Well, I stuck on. Stayed on that speeding train, knowing the end was coming. I made myself enjoy the scenery rushing by my window, the cows, the fields, the rivers. And I made myself smile. I made myself forget that I was on a train that was going to crash, no matter what I did. And I held on, blinded myself while letting myself feel.

But now, I cannot close myself to the crash any longer. I can see the wall, you know. That huge concrete wall that the train was heading to? I can see it now. And it's getting harder to focus on the scenery and the rivers and the trees. It's getting harder to smile and say, "Woohoo what a ride!" I'm human after all, irrationally scared of endings of any sort. And that is one hard concrete wall, strong and solid. I know it'll hurt when the train crashes. But I can't really jump off, not now, not after I've stayed on for so long, through the tunnels and over the bridges. So I have to ride it through, till the end. And count the seconds down to the crash.

I only hope it doesn't ruin me. And that I have the strength to get on another train, for another journey, another crash.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

I stare at the hourglass
Too mesmerized by the falling sand
To turn it over
And give us more time
As the seconds flow away
Lost forever,
My hands stay frozen

It's time to say goodbye
Time for the broken hearts
The broken promises
Time to wake up
To see that things were never meant to be

How easy it would be
To just break that glass
Free the sand to the winds
Throw caution and care away
Freeze the moment
Keep it all the same

Then again
The passing of time
Cannot be stopped

The grains of sand flow fast and strong
Counting down the seconds
Till the emptiness
Inside and out

What has been written will come to pass
What was decided at the beginning
Will spell the end

Friday, March 16, 2012

We are living in a state of false progress. We believe that we are the generation which can finally change the world. We believe that we think differently, know better, are evolved.

We live in a state of constant denial.

We shroud ourselves in hypocrisy and function in bubbles of safety. We believe that we aren't tied down by the archaic beliefs that bound our parents and grandparents. But we have made chains of our own. Chains of distrust, ignorance and indifference.

We pretend to know so much about everything while knowing absolutely nothing about anything. We talk in cliches and take pride in false promises. We defend our views to the heavens and shut ourselves to those of others. We come from different places and bring the prejudices we grew up with, holding on to them like talismans.

We blame everyone else for the mistakes we make, expect everyone else to pick up our slack. We believe that as rebels we are entitled to special treatment. We curse the system because everyone else is doing it.

We spread the same notions we should be changing, wallow in the filth we should be cleaning up.

We are a flawed generation. Lazy and inept.

We are not changing any worlds.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

I pick letters off the winds.
String words together into garlands.
With ink-smudged fingers,
On crumpled papers,
I write my dreams.

I see them dance,
The letters, the lines,
I see them sing
Tell tales,
Stories of people in other lands
With dreams of their own,
Sent to me on the wind.

I pick them out
And pen them down
Throw in some of my own
Create and destroy
For what is writing but dreaming
And destroying

For I throw them away
Those words, those garlands
Watch them go
Just as they came
For someone else
In another land
To pick out
And thread,
Like I once did.

They fly

Waiting for curious minds
And inquisitive fingers
To find them
And then they live
And die
Forever floating
On the wind.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

This is pretty directionless. Just words put together. I just thought they had to be said, one way or another.

Broken hearts and empty promises
Words carelessly spoken
Feelings forgotten
Memories tarnished with time

Caution thrown to the winds
For life must be lived
Moment to moment.
That's what all of them say anyway.

Take it as it comes, they teach us
What will be will be

Let it go, they tell me
Leave it be.

Why think of a future
When there isn't one to be had
Why curse at the fates
When they really have no role to play

And what of the hopes and the prayers?
The desires, the fears?
What of the dreams and the doubts?
The longing and the loathing?

Broken hearts and empty promises
Words, feelings, memories.
How do you really know you care about someone? How do you truly know?

You know when you want to take their pain and their hurt and make it yours. Only so that they will smile again. And then nothing else matters. You know when you want to erase even the smallest frown that creases their forehead. You know you care when all the work you do and any trouble you take doesn't matter, only because eventually, it makes them happy.

You know you truly care when you wish you could protect them from anything that could hurt them. And you wish you were powerful enough to absorb all of it. Only because then, they would be happy.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

The absolute carelessness of some people repulses me. The complete callousness and hypocrisy of their very lives makes me gag. The all talk no walk way they deal with everything makes me angry. So angry that I see red. The way they take so many things so lightly. The way they laugh at those who don't. The way they complain about things they don't have and then complain when they do get them. The way they want everything all the time. The way nothing is ever good enough. The way things should always be the way they see them. The way they waste so much potential and then complain that things aren't delivered to them gift wrapped and served on a silver platter.

They make me sick. And they make me angry.

Yes, I am a hypocrite too sometimes. And I am definitely not above reproach. I am in no way perfect.

Just to make it completely clear, this is a rant. And I don't do this very often. But sometimes it's too difficult to not say anything.

Thank you and good bye.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

The evening was tinged with sadness. A melancholy that blanketed everything.

Their smiles didn't reach their eyes. The cold was in their bones but they didn't seek warmth in each other. They had none to offer.

They watched the flame of the candle slowly burn down. The light dancing in their eyes, hypnotic, helping them ignore the tension.

They knew the end was near. That it was time to say goodbye.

They didn't have any words left. Nothing to say.

And as they ate in silence, the taste of the food wasted on them, the candle continued to burn.

And then they left.

Together, but far apart. Two souls wrapped in misery, too broken to support each other. Two people playing out a silent charade, a pantomime. Two people with nothing to hold on to anymore.

And so they walked. As a pair but with only their thoughts to listen to. In the cold, wrapped up in their jackets. But what could those do for the cold inside their hearts. Longing to hold each other, they walked, knowing that it wasn't to be anymore.

And then it was time for goodbye. With no words left to say and all the strength they had mustered gone, they stood in the light of the single streetlight looking at each other. Struggling to keep the pieces together, trying to speak with no words, they stood there while the world spun madly around them.

And then the spell broke. The dam crumbled. The strength failed completely. And they left. Each to go their separate ways. Tears betraying them, they walked away. Shells of what they'd once been, facades gone.

Thus the curtain fell. On a story often seen, seldom told.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Some addictions are worse than cigarettes or drugs.

What I'm talking about is addiction to a person. Because what it does is give you expectations. You can't expect anything from cigarettes or from weed. You can't expect alcohol to make conversation. You don't expect heroin to love you back. You can buy all of the above for varying amounts of money.

But an addiction to a person is different. You hope. You wish. You dream. And you expect.

You want reciprocation. You want acceptance. And since the addiction isn't to a something, but a someone, there is a whole set of different ideas and perceptions to deal with. While cigarettes and alcohol do not come with hopes and dreams of their own, human beings do. And while all cigarettes are essentially the same and so is all alcohol, humans, every single one of them, are different. Every single one of them comes with a story, baggage, perceptions and more. With cigarettes and alcohol and all the others, the fix is in your control. But with a person, how can you expect to have any control? And while you can throw away a cigarette, pour the alcohol away or blow the weed into the wind, what do you do with a person, a physical entity?

Some addictions are definitely worse than others. And they don't even come with a cure.