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Life, with Love.

Source: Pinterest

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.

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Poetry

Investments.

No more love

To purchase

I’ve invested

In myself.

You know

Nothing about

Me, keep

Opinions

To yourself.

Seether

(Because Seether has wonderful, wonderful music.)

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.”

Emotions

Only ever you.

Source: Pinterest

It took me months to let you go.

After the last love poem you ever wrote for me, I tried to find the same ethereal beauty in writings of others. They were beautiful. But they weren’t yours. Nobody could write poems like you do. Only ever you.

After the last fight we had, you called me names, I whined and whined, I tried to find the words that would call me silly and still tell me they love me for who I am. No words were the perfect balance of “You are stupid” and “You have a beautiful smile”. Only ever you.

After the final good byes, filled with remorse and tears spilling all over, I tried to find the same hey, beautiful in every greeting, in every hello. None of the words seemed sincere enough. None of them yours. Only ever you.

After the last text you ever sent, I tried to find your mark on everything. I stalked you on your social media accounts, I stalked the kind of music you listen to, I stalked all the words you ever said. It wasn’t you. Only a memory of you. Only ever you.

After the last time I typed your name in the search box and had my fill of your name all over the cursed screen, I thought of texting you once again. Maybe we could make do. Maybe we could work out. I had been too adamant in my refusal to accept you. You had been too insistent our time is now. Maybe you were right. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have listened to you. Only ever you.

After thinking of you for months and months, I suddenly realised I had no more tears left to cry, I had no understanding of poetic words anymore, I found no joy in lovely hellos these days, you haven’t posted on any of your pages in months now, and I knew I was right afterall. This was my wake up call. You had been special, and I had loved you for who I thought you were. Only ever you.

But you weren’t a match for what my mind had conjured over time. Not in the least. You were a figment of my imagination. And, like everything imaginary, it hurt to let you go. You were mine. And, you were beautiful. But you weren’t real.

Those poems were oversent, those hellos overused, those compliments generic, the memories of you meddled with by my need to hold on to the perfection of you a little while longer, and your exclamations of us belonging together as untrue as they come.

It became easier to take a deep breath and it became easier to let you go.

We weren’t meant to be afterall.

Poetry

Heartbreak at 16.

Moonlight casts shadows.

Hides the wounds.

The vermilion invisible.

The cuts cloaked.

The pain peeks

From the cracks

In the armor

She’s been wearing

Since the first

Heartbreak at 16.

Poetry

Wanting to be whole again.

When he had promised me forever,

I knew he was lying.

I had wanted to believe him though.

I wasn’t naive.

It wasn’t my first love.

He wasn’t my teenage happily ever after.

I had had a broken heart for far too long.

I had just wanted it to be whole again.

Just for a little while.