Lists

The Idea of Perfection.

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1. When you stare at him from under your lashes, only to find him staring at you from across the room.
2. When he intertwines your left hand with his right one.
3. When he zones in to your eyes and gazes all intensely like he could jump inside and live there forever.
4. When he kisses your shoulder gently in the passing.
5. When he writes you poems about how it’s supposed to be your forever kind of love.
6. When he jokes around with you because he doesn’t feel like he has to be careful not to step on your toes all the time.
7. When you can be honest with each other about everything without the fear of judgement because you have seen all the ugly parts of him and he has seen all the broken parts of you.

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Lists

What Love Wears.

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1. His arms around your waist, holding tight.
2. The scent of giddy expectations all over your body.
3. The promises of being by your side, sometimes forever, sometimes for just a moment.
4. The feeling of being whole the morning after.
5. The little pecks all over your being.
6. The smile that never leaves your face.
7. The need to shout from the top of a high rise about how wonderful he is.
8. The discovery of feelings you never thought you would have.
9. The stars in your eyes when you think of him.
10. The comfort in the silence as you lay in each other’s arms.
11. The need to write poems about his crooked smile and his deep, beautiful eyes.

P.S. This one came back after being MIA for 4 days. So.

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Beautiful Liar.

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SECRETS are lies in their own right. One can’t keep a secret without a lie. And we revere someone who can keep a secret, yet scorn those who lie. It is the same. They all meld together. We want confidantes to surround us, trustworthy and loyal. But we scream bloody murder when we find someone has been keeping secrets from us. We forget to remember the fact that they could be someone’s confidante themselves. Or maybe it’s not their secret to tell. And, maybe not ours to know either. Secrets we have with our cronies are revered. They make our bond grow stronger. Secrets they have with someone else, us being not on the in, ruin relationships of years past. We love, we fight, we cry over those secrets. But we can’t live without them. They rule us and all our actions. They control us in ways we would destroy lives to get away from the pressure of revealing them than succumb. But we won’t let go. Every now and then, the slate is clean and we have the opportunity to move forward without any of it weighing us down. But another day dawns and ding! We are back to square one, surrounded by beautiful lies and lovely secrets, ever strengthening the stench of desperation to be the one holding all the cards where the bets are high and the game has just begun.

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Life, with Love.

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They say fate smiles upon us and floods our lives with happiness when we have had our share of hurt. It takes time and patience. Lots of it. But it happens. And, we live our life believing the wise words of the, well, wise. We learn to rationalise all the messed up shit that went down because there must be a reason. Sometimes we question it, sometimes we don’t. And, we start to believe that after all is said and done, we will come out on top and have a wonderful, wonderful life. But we know what happens to the plans and expectations. They disappoint us more than they don’t. And, we are back to questioning everything that has happened. We lose the faith and we start the downward spiral to the burgeoning pit of hopelessness. We become a shell of ourselves, only sadder and depressed. That’s where love comes in. It finds us drowning in the deep end and throws the float. We hold on for our lives and it sails us through. And, when we get out of the pit, we leave behind the slabs of hopelessness tied to our feet that had been pulling us in, and throw our arms wide, welcoming a life full of excitement and opportunities. And, of course, love. Always, love.

Poetry

Words, always.

She was the kind of girl

Who didn’t blink when you told her

She was pretty.

She was the kind

Who became giddy when you told her

Her words were pretty.

That’s what made her ecstatic.

That’s what made her feel alive.

Words, hers and yours.

Always.

Poetry

7 Years.

7 saal baad kisi ne pucha

“kyun laut-ti thi baar baar?

Apne aatm-sammaan ko bech diya jaise.”

“koi bhaari karz chukaana tha shayad.

Abhi bhi baaki sa lagta hai kuch.”

Crude translation:

Someone asked me after 7 years,

“Why did you go back again and again?

It’s as if you had no self-respect left.”

“I had to pay off a heavy debt, I guess.

I still feel like there’s some more left.”