Sunday, July 31, 2011

500 Days Of Each Season.

What happens when occurrences in your life, one after the other, do nothing but confirm, more and more, that you were, are, and in fact always will be, an outsider. What's worse, is when you find out that you're on this side of the glass window, somehow still intact but probably on the verge of shattering, only because of your naivety and sheer innocence. Or maybe it's just a skill you acquired somewhere along the way, of blindfolding yourself with an invisible emotion every time you thought something was coming at you, that didn't quite fit, or the time for which wasn't quite right, or it wasn't quite as bearable as it should have been. Quite. Quite foolish you'd have to be.

When you're in love, you're supposed to be a fool. Why? Because it isn't reality. It's a fantasy. One that was created as per your own convenience, and composed of your little, fragmented obsessions at the time. But nobody ever talks about how foolish, and vile life itself can be. How foolish you could be while undergoing the process of 'growing up.' But sometimes the process stagnates. And you feel like you'll never learn. Like how many times could you possibly suffer, until the suffering teaches you a lesson. Like how much could you possibly endure, until the last vein connecting your heart to your brain is yanked out. Limitless.

I'd stay a little while longer, if only I could be assured that this time, or the next time, or the one after that, will not end in tears and severe reconciliation of not just the surface skimming factors, but of the soul. 

I'd stay a little while longer, if only the truth was told to my face, and with a trust I couldn't look away from. 

It's like it was said in one of my most favorite movies, of all time. Every time we look back at something we're having a hard time recuperating from, we're probably only looking at the good stuff. The next time you look, look a bit more carefully. 

As I said, I'd stay a little while longer. But that's only if I thought there was something more this place had to offer me. If only it hadn't taken and given to me everything that could have possibly been taken or given. If only my life could turn out the way it had to in the duration of my favorite movie, not necessarily with the same script. If only I could sit here all day, not bother about frivolities that take up my vision, touch and taste, and watch this movie, some brain waves intact. Some nourishment intact. And then... Summer. And soon. Autumn. Throw in a certain Monsoon will you. 

"The scars of your love remind me of us
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all
The scars of your love they leave me breathless
I can’t help feeling..."- Adele

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Bleeding White.

"If I don't say this now, I will surely break
As I'm leaving the one I want to take
Forgive the urgency, but hurry up and wait
My heart has started to separate"- The Fray

She looked at him with an innocent face, the eyes inset with a contrasting wisdom. Portraying the depth of those which had seen too much, and felt more pain, than is customary for a delicate being of twenty years. She read too much, and understood too little. She bought what was sold, and kept it close to her heart. Unaware, that the sharpest weapons should be kept the furthest away from such an ornament of consequence. Yet, ornament it was. Fistful of blood. 

If only I could stop watching you. Deciphering what wasn't meant to be deciphered in the first place. 

Tenacity. Who knew it was an art of the immeasurably practiced. To her, it had always been something that came naturally, through everything that she could derive passion from. Only that now, it had to be applied in the opposition. Velocities, friction, speed, rate and time. The physicists of the world could be put through some strenuous tests, if her little mind, body and soul were to be believed. 

You just said no. So was it just for me? Why such preferential treatment of the most negative order? Why can't I be that girl? Shouldn't be so difficult to answer...

She makes her way through the clear space that still manages to tangle her, and make its way to where it matters the most. While she's walking, little salt lines appear, almost magically, on her smooth cheekbones. Purity can so often be misjudged, and even more often made dirty. Which one is it going to be? Because let's face it. It can be either a life of anonymity, or the one that you're leading, beautifully ugly. She never knew what to choose. Reason enough that she landed herself those eyes. Big, light and beautiful. But you still don't want to own them. 

I might die. Would you care then?

He had a million other lives to live, while she lay still, begging for just one. Bathed and devoid of everything but him. 

Probably not.