Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Faceless companions

How about I jump into the void?
How about I jump into a sea... of stars.
How about I breathe calm while the rest of me is a nose-diving bird.
How about, life?

This is me, happy. Bored and sullen and nothing to really talk about but the mundane dredges of life scraping me by, of building up in the most painful, heavy-duty way to something I will only be able to stand on top of and scream, ten years from now. But I'm happy. I'm excited, and I like who I am. Selfish, not-thinking and seeing the partner I was supposed to devote my life to. The man/men I promised the world to, the moon when they promised me stars, the music when they promised me the lyrics, the words and pictures when they promised me postcards and footsteps when they promised me paths through riverbeds and mountaintops. It was so easy to walk away, to let go and forget that it worries me. It worries me to be alone but it throws me out into the middle of the desert with my own canvas to paint fake blues in the middle of, to splash my own mirage of H2O because I can.

Because I would love to. Because the only person I still love and doesn't disappoint me, is me. I am soon becoming the man I wanted to marry, and I'm ok with it.

Saturday, June 20, 2015

Floating debris

When two people really connect, or are really attracted to each other, there's something pulling them together. But there's also something blinding their long term vision. Myopia. Every relationship starts with severe myopia. This could be good in the long run- it could mean a disciplined, daily ritual of putting on your glasses to see the world better, clearer, to see every blade of grass and every outline of a leaf that so far you only thought was a great big amorphous lump of green. And then only taking them off to shut your eyes to all of it. Or it could mean added vision impairment, myopia with hypermetropia, everything becoming fuzzy along the edges, truth submerging into reality into falsehood, into decrepit egos and mutual respect and love turning into an object to own and possess. It could mean, blindness. 

What have we done to each other? Here I sit, watching Two Night Stand on my laptop on a warm Saturday night. It's 10:30 PM, my room's a mess- great parallels being drawn to my general life there. I'm already dressed for bed, we can all smell the pathos here. And I'm all alone in an empty 3 bedroom sprawling mansion of a house, roommate missing, the TV on to some muted romantic comedy to give background, to give me white noise without the noise, to make me believe I'm not alone. Oh and my mother sitting miles away from me, texting me, she's the only person left. And maybe that's best. 

Where are you? Out with your friends, reclaiming your life that I made you lose. You see, the irony is. We were in different places when we met, maybe even opposites. I was not who you claim to dislike today. I am jealous and insecure and annoying and nagging and disrespectful and egoistical and BLIND because you made me get here. You literally held my hand and dropped me off in this land like it was school time and I couldn't bunk. I turn over my shoulder but nothing's changed. You won't admit you're bipolar, schizophrenic, an ex-depressed beautiful person who's heart was supposed to be in the right place. Who was supposed to let me fix him. I guess the joke's on me. On me and my tears. I only wanted sympathy, love, care affection and respect. Respect. For my dreams and ambitions and hopes that did involve you, if only at the last stage. What was in it for you? Not much, just a sad prize of a remainder of a lifetime of togetherness. I can understand how that's not an attractive proposition anymore. I mean look at me. But then when you do, also look at yourself. You turned a fun, sexy, cool, humorous, lively, confident, caring, ambitious and loving person (with her help as well) into this. Into me. You loathe me, and guess what. You are not alone. 

Friday, March 13, 2015


I’m so overpowered by you. You drown me, but I come gasping up for breath right before it’s too late and the adrenaline rush keeps me going underwater. Again, and again.
I’m engulfed by you. You’re the warmest blankest on the coldest winter day. The muse to my dying art. The canvas that resuscitated me into painting the blankness of the walls of my solitude. You brought me out of hiding. Out of darkness into large, beautiful fields of daisies that are looking up each day. Each day that is filled with sunshine and the clouds and rains are happier than they were told to be by their creators.
You’ve created me. Almost from thin air. Almost as if I had no existence, no purpose, before you. But like this gifted sculptor, that only comes around once in a century, you have appeared to remodel me from shapeless clay, into edges of exquisiteness that only appears stunning to me when I see myself through your eyes. Those eyes, they do me in.
What have I done to deserve this unconditionality? This island in shimmering blue waters, far far away from civilization that really isn’t even civil. Because my conversations on this paradise, with you, are all that come close to Utopia. The verbal and silent ones. The times where we don’t even need to speak because our hearts, eyes and souls do. When I wake up in our hut of constant, endless ecstasy. My drug and my meditation is encompassed in you. You seal me, into nothingness and yet so much substance that I feel like I’m walking barefoot on green grass after the morning dew has just touched it. I’m light and weightless because you’re carrying me through life.
You pace me into breakneck speed. It feels like a ride, clinging onto you, zipping through stationary figures and fields and yet sensing an envelope of warmth and safety, like falling through the skies into a safety net that looks like a dreamcatcher.
Stop catching my dreams before I get used to it. I’m scared because I’ve never owned anything so precious, so priceless. Stay. I’ll make mistakes, I’ll fuck up, I’ll have to bite my tongue a hundred times a day. But I’ll mean the look I give you first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. I’ll mean my life that I owe to you hereon. I’ll mean my head on your heart and I’ll mean my eternal love to you in this lifetime and the next.

I love you. Don’t stop loving me.

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Rewind, arrest.

What are you doing to me? What have you done? Who are you and where did you come from? I don't know if I want you or need you and whether it is enough that you love me and I love you. Whether it is alright that we don't have reasons to justify this love.
I don't understand why we only get snatches of us. It boils my blood and yet it calms me at the same time. I am aware of you and how lucky I am to get the time I'm gifted with you. It's a treasure and I treat it like one. Maybe we sinned in another life to deserve a half-baked life with each other in it, but it was also one filled with good deeds to deserve you at all. You kill me sometimes. Your words, your actions, your gaze. But each time you revive me you inject the life back into me with a new enthusiasm and new outlook towards life. You make me deconstruct everything I already know and somehow understand myself better. You make the process legible. you make me tolerant, and a better person even if I hate it. I hate you but I've never loved anyone like you before. I've never been swept off my feet, been engulfed in a sea of vastness of every emotion I could ever muster, like I have now, with you, by you. Stop this. Make up your mind, and do it fast. I'm slowly disintegrating and I need to be able to fix you so you can also piece me back together. Don't you get it? This is my only adhesive and it will help us survive. Without this, we wont exist. We've made promises. The world may not but we are supposed to keep them because we're different. We're crazy but it's us against the world. When there's no us, there won't be any street, monument, sun, stars, people, memories, nothing. It will all get wiped out with us. Every space that has ever had the chance to see us entwined, in our thoughts, conversations, breaths and limbs, will cease to exist. 
I know you have to pick life and everything contained in it because it's the final semblance of sanity that remains for you. I know that because I know you. You don't know it but I somehow understand you better than you and these three months that you rubbish are the very core of my soul which is locked into yours, like a perfect missing piece to a jigsaw puzzle. Even then, I'm asking you for one last thing. Pick me. Choose me. Love me. Over your life, and everything in it. Because I've given up mine for you. 

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

I handed my heart, my body, my soul and what's now really pinching, my faith, over to you. I have forgotten my mind in the process. I've lost it somewhere on the path to seeking desperate happiness. That's the thing about desperation. It corrodes you on the inside until you can no longer see the things that mattered to you as you. That should have been taking over your life before you let the idea of happiness take control. That's the thing about the idea of happiness. It stems from this sick thing called the idea of love. 

You broke my heart. I gave it to you to keep and when I wasn't looking you decided to play ball with it and smash it through the neighbours' window. Nobody lives there now. The dark rooms are haunted by the remnants of my shards casting an eerie light in small squares that are slowly disappearing. Bits of me diminished where they once shone bright. 

I want you to be miserable. Feel how I feel when I replay the image every second of everyday since I found out. I don't know if I care because it's you or because I thought it was love or because I can't believe I could be forgotten. So easily replaced in an aspect I was trying so hard to fill in your life. I guess I should've seen it coming, I guess your lack of willingness, the distance setting you back an inch everyday, the consistent attempt to display your supposed love for me to the world- all the time forgetting that the only kind of display that mattered was for me. And the amazing part is that I didn't even need any. I knew and yes still know, that you're crazy about me. Your heart longs to see me, hear my voice, my thoughts pour into your empty crevices, share your life and add to its flaws, make them beautiful, tell you you're beautiful and yet fix you, for every year of your life, the entire time.

They say you don't deserve me. You say you don't deserve me. I don't even know if I deserve myself. Is it weak of me to forgive you? Abominable even if I think of reattaching? So I have been told. How can I reform, find the broken bits of me, search for them on all fours only to give them back to the one who ran me over? How can I respect you and live with myself? I don't know what to think anymore. I hate you as much as I love you but this whole thing is making me sick to my stomach. The only respite is that you are in a fractional amount of pain as I am in and I don't want to speak to you or speak about you because I have had enough and I don't recognise myself anymore. 

My brain is weighing my body down and I have lost all motivation. I hope you're happy. 

Friday, June 20, 2014


You fit the list.

It took me all of 22 years to find you and there is no catch. It's too soon and this post is premeditated but I can't help it, I can't help you and I can't help us.
You swooped in, into my new beautiful house and found me on a balcony. There was something extremely Veronian and Shakespearian about it and how your champagne flute, identical to mine, would find its way to your lips and stop right short just so you could drink my words instead. I have never found as much value in what I say as you did and 20 minutes later I was hooked. 
You asked me about contemporary art while I asked you about the life you capture in stills and we travelled in our pasts and in our minds until we found a confluence on every spot and every stop of the world map. 
You want to make me run the land like its meant to be run and I want you to paint it in the colours that only you can but we have to start at opposite ends and unless you start North and I start South, there is no meeting point if we are to be in our maximum splendour. 
I wake up to you while you doze off to me, virtually, physically, emotionally. You care, and God knows I've driven myself extinct being invested in the nooks and crannies of other people's vices and virtues. You have both and you let me embrace them, you do the same to me and without trying you're fixing me one distorted lego piece at a time. 
I would keep you in my safe haven and not let anyone steal you away from me if I could. But you were stolen even before I met you and now I'll see you on different grid points of our self-constructed map. You swung me in over my head, watched me with those shining eyes, brimming with passion and direction and yet self-concluded confusion, which I adored, and picked me up only to sit me down on a cloud I've never been to before. You better me, and I never did think that that would get checked off, but you fit the boxes on the paper and even the ones that never existed. But you're not staying and there's the catch. That's the part of the list that got contradicted and I never did think much of it. 
You're going and I want you to. You're not staying but I wish you were. 
I'm here and then I'm gone, and then I'm there and gone again. 
All I can ask, is you give me a portrait of you, and keep me, as a ruined photograph, in the back of your wallet. 

I hope you will find me. I hope it won't take another 22 years. 

I'll miss you.
The Frozen Flame. 

Tuesday, April 15, 2014


I write so much everyday. I read words I don't comprehend, so many times, until I can finally call them my own. Almost. I have become so heavily ingrained in the system that it is me and I am it and we are inseparable and I am a valley of words volleying around the alleys of hope, love, despair and defeat. Of course I scream, and shout and silently cry, but nobody hears me. They're too busy carving their own ways out of the mud and beyond the mist. Why then is it so hard for me to write from the heart anymore? I barely scrape the surface before I'm down and out and trying to escape again. If only I could find what my mind writes everyday in a quiet corner, I could maybe use it to understand the encrypted dream-like messages scribbled on the walls of this prison. Maybe only that can help me escape into my reality. The one I've been looking for out beyond the fields of forever. Love.