Every passing day, this becomes a play ground of excesses. As I rush towards borders with the rough wind scarring my face and the sun branding my skin, and I cling on to you just that much tighter. Bury my head on your shoulder and inhale deeply. I feel safe. Arguments pile up, conversations show serrated edges between our fingers. And you look at me with complete disbelief- How could you DO this? How could you ever imagine anything else?
I never imagined anything else. Never the anger, never the fear of having to lose any little bit of us. Just never seemed possible that you and I would be on opposite sides of any battle field anywhere. Leave alone this swings and slides of excesses. And I look at you- pouting- You didn’t let me swing. You grab my hand a little tighter and pull me away.
Tomorrow. I promise.

Leave no Memories

Sometimes it is just that much harder to fathom what sort of an effect you have left on someone’s life. You may not bother and with a shrug of a shoulder push their thoughts away into the dark recesses with so many other abandoned memories.
There are memories of a touch, a look, a certain off-handed event with no connection to the rest that followed. Affection itself is one of the most over whelming memories. And I want to leave none.
I cannot imagine I affected you, mattered that much. There is no internal or private triumph in this statement. There is just overwhelming sorrow. When I leave I want to take the memories with me, take a wet wash cloth and wipe your mind clean. Settle your collar and kiss you on the forehead and say- go fall in love. Again. One more time. And this time it may be forever.
I don’t want to come to mind in sullen hours. I want to physically rip those pages out, get someone to do it- someone you don’t know and thus might trust involuntarily.
Why would I want to take them all away? Because knowing that I am a memory for you- makes it that much harder to use a wash cloth on my mind. Thoughts get tied in this terrible chaotic chain reaction, each implosion of tears into the veins followed swiftly by another.
It saddens me to leave memories.
To know that you have not let go of me quite yet- makes it that much harder to let go of you.

I know I had cut too deep.

I am sorry.

Maybe there will be another time and a better face.

THE LOVED FRAGMENT

It was one of those sad, vivid moments when what you love becomes a product that your body is made to reject in an angry vehemence of red. You remember the searing pain, the hot tears in your eyes, the cold clammy hands and the gradual mental degradation of everything and anything around you breaking up and falling. One fragment at a time.
As a discussion took place before me- I wanted to interject and say that I know what it feels like. I know. I have been there. I know that I kill myself before I am there again.
As much as I had wished for the courage to take a positive, this massive negative in me was sick to the core. I wanted it to stop and leave my insides. I could not handle myself so disoriented and broken. I forgot that I was doing everything wrong. I didn’t care. I just wanted to stop feeling sick and tangentially off my normal course of being. It was like my body and my mind was rejecting the boring normal.
Suddenly the years of cynicism got blown away. And a fragment became a product that I had to eject. A product. What a strange mathematical term. A term that was twisting my life on a pivot, dipping towards the forbidden and the fear as gracefully as it dipped away from calm and happiness.
And I wanted to hold your hand and tell you- that this moment, this product that I am trying to eject- will change our lives forever. We can never go back to being what we used to. This ‘product’, this burst of colour into my being and some moments of inane helplessness in you, when you can just hold my hands and let me cry. We have not back tracked. We have not moved ahead. We are stuck in this dangerous limbo that will undo the meaning of being and of love. What can we do?
There we were, running, tumbling, playing in this reverie that would not let us go. There was no more laughter. Just a sense of deep foreboding that echoed like a heartbeat. Very precise. Very regular and so very meticulously recorded. Playing like children who were on this perpetual summer holiday, tired of playing on the swings, yet our feet would not touch the ground. We could not stop. This hurtling force that propelled us towards this broken blue sky and then rushing towards the brown- and we kept moving. Fragmented, in tiny pixels. So as every time we rushed towards the sky or back to earth- little picture pixels floated away, ungluing itself from our spirit and mind.
And then there was this clean white light. Like hot white anger and shame that covered me up in clinical neatness. Unguarded and unprotected, I exploded in this riot of feelings that forced me to take the pain. Refuse help of any kind. In any and all forms. Solitude was the only calming force in the storm. There were so many questions we would never have answers to. We could only play them over and over again in our heads and create answers for our oen satisfaction. Brown eyes or black? Pink or blue? A dreamer or a realist?
But what was – was dead and going.
And I do not know whether these answerless rhetorics were harder for me or for you. But this is not a gauge of sincerity or feelings. Rather a self imposed confession. Father, I have sinned.

Love demands something beautiful. Something ephemeral and perfect; from a distance of lingering eyes that search of that one moment of permanence. It demands a sense of completion and wholeness.
Of images of ourselves that are fragmented with pretence. For we cannot afford to be who we really are if we want to be loved.
The shortcomings, the flaws, the million failures shine like stars on the shoulders of fallen soldiers. WE have earned those accolades after years of darkness- we never wear it with pride. We give it the limelight of shame. "Look at me- I am a failure! But you won't get to see it- for I will show you what shines. Or what I think- shines."

Familiar. Construct. Myths.

The familiar kind of love is happening. To know how exactly it feels to have you around. Sleep next to you. To have your arm around me all night. To see you leave in the morning, spending the last few moments. It has just been so little time. How did we get this familiar?

Can we make do with this familiar kind of love?



We are all constructs. Constructed meticulously by ourselves for the people we want. If we want love from them- we all must be a certain way. For at some point we are convinced that we are not worthy of love just the way we are. We are that incomplete, that imperfect and that desperate to be that perfect construct that someone may love.
Why must we be such constructs even when we go around telling everyone that I am perfectly comfortable in my skin. But which skin is this?


Being complete is a myth.
Thinking that I cannot do without you is a myth.
My life falling apart in to deplorable fragments when you touch me – is a myth.
Your kisses are a myth.
Your skin melting to my touch is a myth.
The longer I linger in your eyes. The harder it is for me to write about it.

Hello. Goodbye.

Morning comes. But a part of me is waking up. The little fragment that didn’t mind this night of no sleep. A night of firsts. A night of some self-imposed strong decisions. Whose love is it anyway?

Not yours nor mine for sure. Not hers or his- the two that do not exist. Except in glimpses of the past. Flow down cold feelings. On a foggy, long winding road. They stop and kiss under the street light.

Whose love is it anyway?
What if the mocking bird won’t sing again? What if the souls that got stuck in the sticky warm night- never managed to unglue- even after death?

The cold did not scald my skin- as much as your touch did. But my heart- I left somewhere on those cold rocks. Some other day- perhaps I may find it.

Those lucky crossroads, skinned knees, bruised elbows and this slow settling feeling. That if you hug me here, the next turn will be better.

Some one who thought new me rather well tried analysing my handwriting yesterday.
This 'someone', I must add is absolutely certain that she has me understood and sorted out in the past 9 months or a little more that she has known me.
She said that I was NOT a spend thrift. Alternatively I was also willing to pay EXACTLY what the item was worth.
She said that I was properly and neatly egotistic. I sat apparently on top of the ego fence and dangled my nice heels.
I ALSO didn't have a double self- I was what I was- straight in your face.
However, I did keep things inside.
I could be a team leader AND a team player.
I didn't hang on to things in the past and I was willing to let go.

Clearly.

No one has been more right about my ego.
And SO wrong about my past.

Slaying A Jabberwoky

I would have to be half-mad to dream up something like this?
Then perhaps I am.

I had nothing to do today. NOTHING. I made plans and I meticulously thought of excuses and cancelled them. I sat and cried a while, tried to act mature. Then gave it up.

Only after I gave up was I happy. At peace inside. As if I had untied this massive load off my heart and let it crash in to the waters below. It made me wonder why I had not done it earlier.

I think I just managed to cut the purple tongue off.

The undoing.

I miss you. In this completely heartbreaking way I miss you. You seem to have melted in to my pores like the after effects of a dream. I want to see you. I want to be close enough to smell your skin again. To place my fingers on your cheek and hold you when you sleep. There is this scream at the base of my throat that is clawing its way out. Tears well up reluctantly. The scream has sharp tearing fingers. I need you. I need you here now. I am angry for wanting you. Anger and Want. I still have not learnt what to do with either. My whole being is tearing out of me to rush to you. To keep you forever. Trapped perhaps. You have undone me. Every nerve in my body is coiled around your thoughts like your fingers around mine. I inscribe you on my skin. Make the cuts deep so as you stay forever. The scar is inching towards my heart so dangerously that I wake up in a clammy sweat, but still protected in your arms. Your kiss. I want your kiss on the back of my hand like lines on my skin.
Tomorrow morning when I wake up- my eyes will burn to want to see you next to me. And I won’t.
My heart is breaking. That is how much I miss you.