3 AM

3am, like clockwork.

Nicotine stains, ruffled sheets and desires.

The silken veil drapes around misread memories.

The breath in my ear, the soft growl of an unsaid soliloquy.

•

Lovelets, left to trace my bones.

Trinkets of lost moments, unfurled into my skin.

Life drawn through parted lips,

Whispering names, faded, a symphony.

•

Hushed amour, a forbidden indulgence.

Stealing unwritten stories, from diamond lined eyes.

Tresses for miles, an invisible line,

Evanescence, yearning, the only ardour.

•

Moonshine, on my tongue.

Intoxication, the redolance at your neck.

Naked remnants of strings unplayed,

Anticipation, a thirst for rancour.

•

Exist tonight, trace me down.

Disappear, like petrichor, a mythical night.

Waking up, with mere words for souvenirs,

I pen you in, azure ink and dreams denied.

•

The Armour.

Flaming red lips, clinking metal and glass, fingers slipping through pages turned,

Lazy curls falling down her nape, caressing what your fingers had dreamt of a million times.

Looking up you knew her kohl-lined gaze pierced right through and way beyond,

After all, it wasn’t a floating ghost you had opened the doors of your wounded soul to.

The endless talk hidden behind lit screens, a snug little corner, all you ever asked for,

Your imagination living stories that only your fingers could conjure up.

The moment of truth, that moment she had dreaded and you not,

The tables turned, with a blink of a veiled eye, vulnerabilities out on the lot.

A brave frontier? A naked fear? A clear blurred line, evidently obnoxious.

It wasn’t just your bubble anymore, but stark reality, in flesh and in bone.

You knew her story, you knew her hands, you knew her breath, you knew her kind.

But the only thing that you could fathom henceforth, was how much of you she knew or might.

All the hours after that you sat through, knowing you were running, running scared and running straight.

All the words you spewed that night, integrity forlorn, honesty denied.

Bits and pieces, your path traced by shattered facades or mere disappointment,

Were you running from her or your own shadow where your ghosts reside?

In holding up your weak tin walls, maybe you cracked open her steel-stoned vault,

Or maybe in her long line of breaches, you were the very last straw drawn.

Rest assured, she whispers poetry, she still draws dragons and traces stars,

A dragon she puts behind an armour now, an armour of everything that you were not.

Nostalgia.

Nostalgia is a bitch they say. I never understood what that meant until we stopped being who we were and became who we are right now. We are still us, the same people alright. But it doesn’t feel like the times are the same, obviously because things changed. But what things? Because I don’t remember there ever being a ‘thing’. Well, not anything that we acknowledged of course. You know what’s weird though, that nostalgia hits every single night, every damn sundown. And yeah, it does hurt like a bitch.

Remember the little game the PE teacher made us play back in school where we had to take a step forward for every ‘Yes’ to his questions? Yeah, I think that was our game. The only difference being that we weren’t in the same line like back in the day, we were at opposite ends of the court. We asked the questions, we answered the questions and we took the steps too. I guess I just didn’t realise the moment when I stopped asking them and just stayed in the game for you, but apparently you played by the rules only skipping the one that said you couldn’t skip mine.

Of course I do not understand, I never do to be honest. It’s funny, it doesn’t even make me mad anymore. I wasn’t even surprised when I realised I was halfway past the court by the time I saw that I had no audience, not even you. The game had ended, just like that, broken rules and well not broken but a slightly dented heart. So what are the rules now? Because I never made them, I only played to your tune. I told you I do not like games, half because I do not understand them and the other obvious half being that I somehow always lose.

I remember watching the sun go down together, swaying legs and beating hearts, we were never great talkers. Contrary to Harry’s beliefs, comfortable silence is so not over-rated. I liked the quiet with you, I liked that you just held my hand and didn’t kiss me when the sun went down. Kisses really weren’t our thing either, we were weird that way. Kindred spirits I called us, because we definitely weren’t soulmates. You didn’t understand my words, you said they weren’t made for you but you know what you said after though? You said you only listened to them because maybe I was made for you. You fucking bastard, always with the charm.

I’m still smiling writing this, I’m not mad and that kind of makes me mad if it makes any sense. I thought you meant something to me, that I owed you that sense of  togetherness. But turns out that I couldn’t have been more mistaken, you were okay on your own. You weren’t going to be my next charity case, and I definitely didn’t need one since I wished I could be someone’s myself. Even the thought of you makes me restless, only because I thought I’d let myself go again. I’m so glad I stayed sane, and I’m so glad you were way above my usual crazy dominoes. I call them dominoes because they always end up face down, never disappoint – not once.

I don’t think it’s you that I miss, I think it’s the way it felt to have what we had. I don’t know how it feels to you, specially with changed priorities but I feel a sense of emptiness. There is a space. Don’t get me wrong though, it isn’t uncomfortable or anything, it’s just very noticeable. My brain isn’t empty at the end of the day anymore, so many thoughts, so many many words. It’s hard to fall asleep knowing that you wouldn’t hold me for the same reasons, even if you did it would probably be because you were just too scared of a cold bed. It feels weird knowing that I’m probably not the last person you talk to anymore, definitely not the first person for sure.

You told me you had never been happier, I told you that it scared the hell out of me. You told me that you needed this, I told you that all I wanted to do was run away. You told me that I felt like home, I told you that it felt like a fucking storm. The day you knocked on my door at 3am, asking me if everything was alright; I swear to God I felt everything come crashing down. The irony of it all, our god-damned hearts. I hate your flannel shirts, I hate your stupid blue beads and I hate your stupid hugs that I never could resist. And you know what else I hate? I hate how you made me feel.

I let you in right at the time that you walked me out, I didn’t know and neither did you. I guess I lost my charm the day I held your hand before you held mine, you see, that was so not me and obviously you noticed. I watched you from across the table, smiling and talking just the same but your eyes wandered. It wasn’t other girls that caught your eye, it was just another life; a different future. You didn’t ask me if I’d written anything in my book anymore, you didn’t even tell me if you wrote anything in yours. I didn’t need to tell you the words that heartened me that day or the next or another, because I knew you didn’t care.

I’m not saying that you didn’t care about me anymore, because of course you did and you showed it too. You just didn’t care about us, the idea of us that you had planted yourself. You made extra effort, you brought home cake every Thursday, you tried almost too hard. The fact that even now I can’t just write a sentence and be done with it without going into an elaborate explanation just so you don’t misunderstand says a lot I think. We were never meant to be, just two lonely souls clinging to one another till the phase passed. It’s unfortunate though that yours passed sooner, and I’m still here trying to grab onto whatever little of it is left.

But you know what the hardest part of it all is? That it was all for nothing. My days are the same, actually better but the nights are just a little too long. You’re being so brave and pushing away, and you’re doing such a great job at it that’s it’s almost impossibly perfect. It’s not my Skype that rings when something is going on anymore, it’s just the door to your room that closes behind you. I still need to talk to you though, you don’t realize that and even if you do – you turn away. I don’t need you to be my wall, I need you to just let me be your shadow. I don’t need your cuddles anymore, because I sleep in your empty shirts these days.

You’ve let us slip too far, I let you do it but only after I tried clinging onto your shirt every damn night. But now I don’t feel the connection anymore either, honestly I’m starting to doubt if we ever even had one. Maybe all we had were your empty words, the castles you built in the air, making me its delusional princess. I am not going to give you peace by denying the hurt, I am not going to be a liar just because you thought it was okay to be one. I’m just going to let you go, just as easily as I let you in. That’s always been your specialty with me, hasn’t it? You get what you want, a little too easily. The room is empty once more, my bags are packed and unfortunately enough, so is my little heart.

Ball Rooms.

Six inch heels, high slits, red lips and champagne in hand – I stare out at the obnoxious luxury strewn all across the ballroom so vast. 

Everyone decked up in their best and at their finest, like an exhibition of absurdity, being seen – the only demand.

Glittering chandeliers hanging low from the ceiling, shimmering dresses cascading down perfectly etched curves of every woman’s body.

The heavy elegant drapes on the high windows, the crisp cuts and button ups on the men with their chin up high and engaged in big words.

I fit in here, my world, I don’t feel the slightest unfamiliarity. My impeccable style on display, my engaging eyes and my indifference to stares just in place.

The invisible bubble that kept everyone at bay, always pulled up, they could look all they want but could never step into my playing field.

It wasn’t a conscious choice, nor was it completely out of character of me. I was known to be aloof, probably part of the appeal.

I liked the distance, the liberty, the mystery that came with a life not shared but yet overbearingly noticeable to say the least.

I look down at my hands, noticing light smudges of ink from an afternoon spent writing out in the meadow complete with the best bitter brew.

So many characters to be watched, even better than the ones I caught out the window from my usual corner at the town’s coffee house.

Even the most uninspiring of people inspiring my best work, the ones with instant charisma eventually floundering into anonymity.

My secret life on paper never rivalling the one I lived every time I closed the pages and put my pen away, each as dear to me as the other.

Too many people had stepped in, many pushed away and some pulled out. I was just too much to stand up to for anyone with a sense of self.

Why settle for mere spectators or men with egos that demanded constant feeding? Why cater to lives lived behind lit screens, words spewed with no actual integrity?

A woman of such influence, a rarity but not the last of her kind. My time and attention valued at a lot more than the societal subtleties for sure.

I might lace your body with words, trace your thoughts in poetry but know for sure, it’ll only be a wager against the substance you aspire to offer.

I like being someone’s tragedy, suits me better than having one of my own. No one survives my fleeting thoughts, specially not the ones that don’t strive to hold my gaze.

Narcissism you call it? I call it human nature. When you find a precious ruby in a pile of blood soaked rags, would you just leave it behind for someone else to find?

The one who chooses to unsee the wealth lying in a gory mess just because the shine is brighter than his own – I call him a fool and nothing more.

I let people walk away, I say my goodbyes with written words. I hold the sole keys to both my body and my mind, the only gatekeeper forever and beyond.

I sip the bubbles and smile at the scripts being lived out all around, knowing that I’m atleast not living mine blindfolded like the rest.

A selfish act each time I step into such grandeur, silently measuring time and reassuring myself of the lack of my own ignominy.

Realisations dwell in such places, places that remind me of my own ideals and perspectives that are worth striving against, every second an experience and every sight an opinion.

Consider it my drug of choice, my drug of addiction but not a drug that I can’t fight against. Everything is a choice I can make and I make this mine every chance I get.

People and words, words and people – twirling and entangling into one another. The beauty, the intrigue and a source of epiphanies rivalled by none other.

The Mirror People

What are we, but mirrors,

Shattered and patched back up time and again.

And in all those times, mistaken,

Mistaken pieces glued back together in vain!

Which piece is mine, which is your’s?

Which is that random person’s that i bumped into today?

Maybe there is, somewhere in me, a piece completely mine,

only surrounded by a stranger’s, if i may say!

You might be a part of so many people more,

so many a part of you for sure.

Unknowingly or with knowing guilt or by mere chance,

you leave a part and take another to be your own.

Each hand you shake, each hello you wave,

Each smile you spread, each heart you stole,

Every tear you caused, every kind word you spoke,

Everything you touch, blossoms, bespoke.

Embrace change, because it’s nothing but you.

Learning over the years, how to be and who!

If it scares you, don’t fret and revert,

If everyone did that, then the whole world would just be stuck!

You can be anyone you want to be, chosen instantly,

because you’re already that inside somewhere.

Just imagine how beautiful it is, how divine,

That you ain’t just you but a million people more!

So be proud of all your pieces, sticking to each other with strength,

you now know that even if you break again, you’ll stand up tall with grace.

Because you’re but a million mirror pieces,

reflecting who has come, who has gone or stayed.

Window Seat – The Experience.

I personally am obsessed with having a window seat when I am travelling, be it in a bus or a train or a car. If there are no pestering grown ups around who would make me give it up out of “respect” and to showcase my “obedience” *rolls eyes*, I can handle the pestering little brats and shoo them away easily. There is just something about staring out of your window into nothingness that ups the ‘experience’ factor of the otherwise mundane and inevitable journey intended to just move you from place to place.

I am not saying that journeys aren’t fun otherwise! Of course journeys can be super fun with people you love, people you want to spend time with. But, I don’t think you can deny the fact that at least one of those times you wished you could have your space. The pace at which we are busy living it up, sometimes you just need to pause and breathe. There is nothing like the serene calm you experience when you are travelling in the night, cars zooming by, stars in the dark sky like a canopy – sheltering you from everything beyond.

I am specific about the night journeys because that is when you are most likely to be free from chit-chatting people, noisy vendors trying to sell you cheap food, loud big-bellied men trying to run jobs from miles away, old people not realizing that  just because they are deaf, it doesn’t mean that the entire world is too and all the screaming spoilt kids. And when you do chance upon these rare time-frames, it’s almost like the world decides to take the break with you. Everything slows down to your pace, or maybe it’s the other way around, you slow down to match the world. Who knows.

Music feels more amplified, you relate to every song on your playlist even if it has no relevance to your life whatsoever! Random songs bring back memories, bring back people. Some make you smile, some make you giggle, some make you quiet and some bring tears. Acting out the song with just your face, lip-syncing like it’s your own comes naturally and doesn’t feel weird or fake at all. Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran seem like your closest friends now and you totally imagine singing along with them in the farm, sitting on a checkered red and white picnic towel, smiling because you know they understand, even if no one else does.

The most common thought on such journeys – The One. You either think about the one who is already in your life, the one who has left or the one who you’re waiting for. And sometimes, the one might be ones! I am not really sure if I should call that fortunate or unfortunate. A whole lot of reminiscing and wishful-thinking happens. It gives you an emotional high, everything is magnified. I have made decisions on such highs, some good and some that i have regretted eventually.

I don’t really know if it’s the silence or just seeing things passing you by or just noticing how far far away everything in the sky is, but it gets you thinking – thinking about all the things that you’ve done, wishing you could undo a few, wishing you could do a few better and about all the things you wish to do in the future. Everything seems to make sense, your mind goes into overdrive. The wind rushing through your hair manages to muddle up your thoughts somehow, you jump between ideas like they are mere instances and before you know it you don’t even remember where you started. And just one of those times, you get to feel empty. I treasure these, where your mind is just clear and there is absolutely nothing that you want to think about.

If you give it enough time, it’s almost like for those few hours you are separated from reality – in an alternate universe where you feel understood. It’s just an illusion, but it’s a bloody satisfying one at that. You tend to get all philosophically dizzy and start analyzing life and all of it’s exploits, usually more dramatized versions of the same. It all depends on the amount of time that you spend on the road and what the road looks like.

If there is one thing that can one-up this experience, it’s a rainy journey. Not like a heavy noisy downpour, but the kind of rain that makes you all fuzzy from the inside and leaves you feeling as comfortable as snuggling into mum on a cold night, back in your own bed, under your own roof – in a place called ‘Home’. And if you understand what I mean, you know i am not exaggerating. But that is a story for a different time because it deserves an article of its own. So, for now, close your eyes and lean back and imagine what it would feel like – specially if the destination has something or someone very close to your heart. Or better yet, make it happen! Go take a break! Smiling already? I am. 🙂

That is why I call travelling an ‘Experience’. It is so much more than just movement, we have only talked about one part of it yet, and this part doesn’t even have anything to do with the destination or any other person but you. There is so much more and hence, I’ll keep on writing!

Random rambling.

Change.

Everyone changes with time, it’s inevitable, I personally have gone through major fights involving ‘Oh you have changed!!’. But now that I think about it, I don’t see the point of it all.  Isn’t that what life is about? I mean, we grow up – Change. We graduate – Change. We grow taller – Change. We meet new people – Change. This list can go on for ages but the point here is – What is all the hullabaloo about personality changes? Why can’t a person choose who or how he wants to be. They might stop believing in a lot of stuff, start believing in new things, might look at a lot of things a different way. Each moment that they are facing this ‘ever-changing’ world, their defense strategies and the way they react to things ought to change, else they are bound to get sucked into a state of uncertainty. where their very existence becomes a big question mark.

There are so many kinds of people out there. All these words we use to generalize people like ‘extrovert’, ‘jolly’, ‘boring’, ‘fun’ etc. just seem so unfair. I mean, along the way, you end up judging each person based on the category that he is stereotyped into. Not even the person in question understands himself so fully, let alone an outsider who doesn’t live the life of the person he is trying to figure out. So, basically the point is to lay back and choose who you want to be but the more important point is to never choose who you want the other person to be, irrespective of the kind of relationship that you have with that person. You can never own a person. You can bring new life into this world. You can make another person the center of your universe. But that is your choice and your choice ends there.

I guess being an emotional person, having been brought up in an environment where everything and everyone mattered, your emotions are sometimes out of your grasp. It can be hard to not let something bother you. it is not like you want it to. But what I have come to understand is that not everything can be how you pictured it to be. The problem is that seeing even the slightest of changes in another person is very easy, it comes naturally almost but it’s really hard to recognize the changes in yourself let alone accept them. Sometimes, even the biggest of changes that we gradually inculcate into our personalities go unnoticed by ourselves because we never consciously put effort into every single thing happening with us. We get influenced by so many factors around us, small and sometimes incredibly big, some knowingly but most of the time unknowingly and there, my friend, is where the root cause lies.

You can never escape such things, you can only choose to make them less impacting. And there are rules to that,

1. Don’t expect change from others. Decide if the issue is worth changing yourself for or just ignore and let time do it’s thing.
2. Don’t react on an impulse and jump to conclusions. If you already have then it’s probably time to take a break from all the excessive analysis and thinking.
3. Err…….

Okay, halfway through that I realized I was just rambling on like some ‘wise guru’ whereas I consider myself a ’emo-wreck’. So, let’s drop the ‘I know what I am saying and you can trust me’ façade and get “normal”. If you are expecting a solution to this from me by the end of this post, then you will be disappointed. This is just how I look at it, this is what I have figured out (hopefully.) but I don’t think any of us will ever reach a point where we will remain unaffected by another person. We will always weave strings of attachment, of hope, of expectations, of faith in others. After all, we are a species that thrives on it’s social relations. So, that is it! Everyone goes through these phases but just like my mom says to every problem that I tell her about – ‘It will pass’. That is the easiest ‘first-level’ solution to every problem. Try this and when this doesn’t work we will probably move onto the next level. But then again, when will u know when to move onto the next level…… Errrr….. So there you go!

Questions, questions and more questions! Life.