Why? Because I Love You.

He probed.

She was unsure.

But eventually yielded.

"I love you. You're beautiful."

She wont say it back.

No, scratch that. She can't say it back.

Carefully, very carefully, he tries all he can.

Take two.

One small push and she's all his.

Moving in perfect synchronization of body, of life.

How does she say it? 

Without him getting scared and backing off?

Her mind screams, "I love you! I fucking love you! And I've loved you all this while."

But her mouth stays locked in his.

The words lost in the heat of the moment. Drowned in passion.

"Relax," he says, sensing the urgency and the tenseness in her back.

She lets out a soft moan, as his hands move down, easing out all her apprehensions. 

They shift.

The kisses are different.

His more tearing. Hers, softer. Her hand caressing his face. Obvious love.

"It's funny how it never felt like this when we were together."

"Because when we were together, I was playing my part. The caring boyfriend one."

Muffled gasps. Sharp pain.

"So that was all an act?"

Long drawn sigh.

"Not really. I meant it when I was in it. It's just too taxing for a guy like me."

Unshed tears, distracted by tethering his body, embedding her nails in his arched back. 

Teeth gnawing supple skin.

Red. Color of hurt. Color of passion. Of love.

She strokes his forehead as he slowly moves her hair out of her face to get a closer look.

He doesn't call her beautiful. Something stops him. At the very edge.

But she wants to know. 

Lazy exhaustion. Slower kisses. Wild submission. Acceptance. Denial. Tired.

"Men don't understand, but this is the best part." Contentment.

Really? She wants to ask. Then how do you? Is it just me? Tell me! Talk out loud! 

"You have weird perceptions and estimations about yourself, you know..."

"Like what?"

He snuggles closer. His hand always in motion against her back. He kisses her head discreetly, thinking she can't tell. She can. She can always tell.

"Like this. You think you want this. You're a really good boyfriend for as long as you don't start thinking about it."

"Hmm..." he mutters with his eyes shut. Still holding her close. She doesn't think he realizes that this is the closest they've gotten in a long time. And it's the closest they will be, all bared, in a very, very long time to come.

"You wanna get a smoke?" 

This is it. She doesn't want to let go. She's finally found something comfortable. Comforting. Something that doesn't make her squirm, or jump back in disapproval and skepticism. She was scared she'd find out how irrevocable her feelings were where he was concerned if she ever landed up in something like this. And there you go. She found out. And it hit her so hard, that she doesn't mind not being carefully handled, or not called beautiful, or looked at with a certain kind of deep love only some pair of eyes can show her. For all she cares. Ravage my body. Be harsh yet truthful. Be the asshole my friends have been warning me about. Do exactly this to me, again and again and fucking again. But be mine. In whatever limited and warped form that may be possible.

She studies the marks he gave her on her upper torso, the moment she gets home, and stands in front of the mirror, running her hands smoothly over each one of them. And then slowly turns around to see a slightly different, lonely one at the nape of her neck. She doesn't touch it, but quickly looks away. Thinking of the marks on his body, there's some consolation that he can't do away with them any time soon. She smiles a soulless smile. This is not me. It's not who I am. What am I doing? 

Giving in because you're tired. Somebody answers. Consumed.

Coastline.

It's been a while since I spoke to you.
Say things I've wanted to.
Listen to what you have to say.
Chances are I wouldn't tell you anything out of the ordinary.
Neither would you come up with something I didn't already know.
We know each other too well for that.
Like the waves in the ocean, skimming the surface, not quite interacting with the dark waters, right at the bottom.
Yet somehow, fully versed with what every little, magnificent drop has to offer.
It's beautiful no?
Our relationship?


I'm aware of what reaction every little action would illicit from you.
There's something comforting in the knowledge that I can gauge, time and eventually smile an understanding smile.
The power that some invisible force of nature rendered to you, which enables you to reach out to me, before you really even do, is fascinating. 
I'm struck with wonder at the enormity of our emotions.
Strangely enough, we don't feel the same things.
If I tasted sour, you tasted sweet.
If I leaned in, you stood strong, ready to embrace me.
If I danced to self-composed tunes, you projected two left feet.
If you said North, I'd run South.
And such was how we lay perfect in our imperfections.


You were the white light passing through a prism, forced to burst into a spectacular array of shining colors. That was me.
Blinding all, with the brilliance of my joy. Happiness that was tangible.
We lent this inconceivable energy to the air around us, and forgot all about the prism.
Naturally it's lost now.
Allowing you to remain the seamless white light you always were, originating from nothingness. 
And me? Forget colors, grey or even white. I'm nothing.
Not a form of energy. Not of matter.


But let bygones be bygones. 
Today, as I watch you sitting diagonally across me, I wonder in amazement, how things change.
I don't feel hollow anymore. 
Something feels like it's been healed. And that's what's odd.
I didn't know what broke in the first place.
Of course, even now I can't jerk the wound. It needs its time.


I still look at you with affection, and know it's not love, but to me you're still a child that needs to be protected.
I know that that too will eventually change, and it has to, but I'm happy now, and I'm not thinking. Because I'm ready for whatever is next.
With you, or without you, I guess it'll have to do.
I have finally learnt that when there's somebody else looking out for it and relying on it, that is reason enough to smile.


Until then, I'll keep washing the shores, while you kiss the sea-bed, and when on a nostalgic night, the moon decides to boast, the tides will change, a storm will ensue, and who knows? We may just meet. Even if it's amidst the roiling waters... 

I Know Nothing. I Promise.

So you're out, is it? You're finally out. The ball was neatly caught, and that was the end of you. Dismissed. You hang your head low, and slowly trudge out of the field. Level playing field. Uneven. But the next player doesn't come. I wait, and wait, but nobody comes. That's when I start to think. Who are you anyway? Who were you? What do I even know about you? Nothing.


You always wore shoes. Nike. The red and white that hadn't devoured many miles. That had a long way to go. But they were taking it slow.
Other than that, nothing.


You didn't like your weight so you would layer yourself in loose tees and floppy hair, camouflaging what you thought wasn't meant to be seen. What people might find ugly. The fear of what they would think when they found out that you weren't who they really thought you were, kept you from them. From people. But you would still be amidst them, making jokes, then laughing at them. And then bit by bit crying at the tragedy of it all.

So what more do I know about you? Nothing.


I hated your views, ideologies, aims and principles. But I secretly loved them. You hated mine. Secretly loved. Love, hate, passion. That's how we used to roll. No mush, and then so much of it. You hated the rain. I'd dance in it. Secret kisses. Holding hands when everyone was looking but not quite seeing. Only we knew how that felt. It's how we used to roll. Fighting, wrestling, mock upsetting, I love you so much it hurts. The texts that cornered, semi-opened eyelids, and then forced the unwashed mouth to twitch, and the lazy, non-stretched body to fall back into the feathers for just one more indiscernible second, into a reverie. Wasn't that how we used to roll?
What more did I know about us? Nothing.


"It's funny how when I'm drinking, I only think of you baby."
"Haha, Devdas!"
"No silly, I mean, in a good, happy way."
"Well then, happy Devdas..."
"Yeah, it's what you make me. Happy. Good night baby."
Smile. Click. Flash. Blinded. 
This is all I know. Nothing.


I want you here. Just so I can hold you. Look at you. Talk to you.
We rehearsed for your play together.
I love you so fucking much. I can't bring myself to look at another girl. You're blinding me.
Snuggled up, sharing lazy kisses, you kissed me on my nose, and for that split second, even while you were looking at me, my heart could just explode into a million, tiny, ecstatic pieces.
I don't know why, but I couldn't bring myself to go today, I can't bear to not hug you before leaving. Today the urge was particularly strong.
Trembling feet, dreamy eyes, and a strong wish to dissolve and die of embarrassment. But you wouldn't let me do that. Your sly smile said it all. You were really enjoying this.
You want me there? I want you everywhere. Muah! I love you!
We didn't watch much of that movie did we?
Cool. I'll see you tomorrow only then. Once you get done.
We sat under the arches. Who knew it would be this beautiful in the evening? There was so much to say and so much to hear. But we couldn't push away the inevitable. I really wanted to though, trust me I did. You joked. I laughed. We cried. And then got so tangled up in each other that it was impossible to disentangle. Nothing is impossible. Bit by bit, we loosened every thread. Cut every tie. Painful, absolutely searing. But there was no other way. Remember that game we'd play as children? Doctor, doctor, solve the problem. The problem we create ourselves and then expect the doctor to solve. He eventually does rip us apart though. And that signals the beginning of a new one.
Why did you ever come into my life?
Closure.
Nothing.


Expand your horizons, he says. I did. I swear. But you know what I saw? My horizons encompass you. From the blue to the orange to the pink to the yellow and even the grey. You, you, only you.
I know nothing more.


I suddenly really like my hair. You always thought it was beautiful, no? My palms, you'd like smelling. So I don't let the smoke stick on. I wash, scrub, erase. You admired my father. Can you believe he really likes you now? I miss having someone owning me. No you owning me. And how you took pride in owning me. How you showed me off. I'd nudge you, throw you a dirty look, but I really loved it. Loved how people saw us 'together.' As one. I knew you did too.
But besides that, I knew nothing.


I can claim to hate you. Hate you with all the willpower I have. So much that I'll form a bubble that shields me, gives me false hopes of protection. But then you come and put an arm around me. Ruffle my hair. Pull my cheeks. And basically take a needle and prick my bubble. Now that's why I love to hate you. Or hate to love you. Whatever. Nothing.


I'm making you larger than life. Stop me please. I know you don't want to. 
I know nothing more.
But I love you.
What?
Nothing.

Being Juliet

Was there ever a line? If there was, I crossed it, long, long ago. I'm so far beyond that when I turn around to look at the point where I started I see only a speck of vanity, a trail of ignorance, but above all, I see innocence. I'm lax. But when it comes to you, I don't let go. I knew you. I know you. You seem so close. Close enough that when I breathe, your scent catches me off guard. I inhale and it's like a rush of that breeze I can't see, I can't control, but it still chills me, still makes its presence felt, in a way that it makes me stop and think even amidst the flurry of colorless chores, faceless faces and hands that touch but don't leave fingerprints. One of those days that I don't think about it, the breeze is even stronger in its intensity. You hit me hardest when I don't expect it. I've been walking in the desert for too long. So much so that when I spot that pool of water, I don't look left or right. I dive. You're beautiful. But only to me. Black, black, black, white. I zoom into you, as soon as I see you. No. Somehow, as soon as I sense you. It's not a war, I want them to know. I actually don't even care anymore. Because they'll think, think and think, but towards the end of it all, I'll still love you. And with so much pain that it's almost physically evident now. With so much intensity, with so much concentration that someday my love will be tangible. Something you/they wont be able to erase. In fact you'll have to think of ways to help each other shoulder the burden to just bloody get me, no not me, that one thing, out of the way. Romeo, you were always overrated weren't you? You may have been gorgeous, you may have been the ultimate, true love, you may have invoked the Juliet in Juliet, but you weren't good for her. You were parasitic. Who would've thought that life-giving love could kill? Brutally murder? You made it possible Romeo. You and your love that became an object, killed her. You and your other more vital, worldly things became the garland on her death bed. So what if you gave her something no other could have? So what if she'd wait for longer than eternity if only it meant a glimpse, a word, a touch, a kiss from you? So what if even on being given a choice she would choose a thousand deaths with you over another thousand lives without you? So what? What now? Paris. You are the easier choice. No let me not insult you. You're the more comfortable choice. You're patient. You're important. You're love with a whole new meaning. Sometimes I can't even tell the difference. There's nothing that's not right when I'm with you. But there is something wrong. You're not Romeo. You can't be him. And unfortunately for you, you can't even be my distraction. I love you too much to be unfair to you. So while Juliet could see Romeo, while she knew he existed, Paris must learn, must suffer. I'm so scared now that I hide my words behind Shakespeare's. He knew. It's not that I'm crazy. I'm a happy person. There's only an unhappy part of me, and it's growing restless. I miss non-conformity, but then again, how much do I know of it? This is probably the closest I've ever gotten. My eyes say a lot don't they. They always give me away. I don't want to involve, but someone, somewhere, has entirely different plans for me. What do I really want? That's immaterial. I could want to sleep on a cloud, I could want to hold a star, I could want to start over, I could want to just pause and feel what I'm feeling for as long as I'm feeling. I could want to stop breathing... That way, at least one sense of mine could be numbed toward all yours...

Jungle Retreat

It's a tropical life.

Colored in bright shades of orange, pink and yellow.

Away from conventional love,

conventions and norms.

Something I'd want to follow.

Spread out on the deck,

the breeze just about grazing,

the sunlight fading,

twilight hazing.

Don't jeer at me.

It's real, I promise you.

I've touched them,

the underwater corals.

The salt tasted sweet.

Real, unreal.

Ever seen them? 

Red orchids?

They're beautiful.

They're tempting.

Sinful.

How pitiful.

Don't show me the blue ones all over again.

Ordinary,

it disgusts me.

Fragile,

it evades me.

Tighten the screws.

Knot the ropes.

I'll still let loose.

Swim through.

It'll be my breakthrough.

Dip in and wash it off.

It should be the way things flow.

Why would you go this slow?

Unfortunate.

Streak me purple,

I'll blend in.

Just like that juice on the counter,

I didn't order.

Ever heard of a rainbow becoming common?

Heaven is here.

I'm happy.

Dry cheer.

Brought home a cockatoo,

brought home a hammock.

Thought it would set the tone of vibrancy.

No such luck.

Disillusioned mimicry.

I dove at sunset.

Didn't come up in time for air.

Sunrise.

That's right.

Disoriented, dual life.

Palm trees.

Hives and bees.

Concrete and water.

Lime and grime.

Black and white,

all combine.

Left with no shine.

Flannel curtains.

Set them alight.

Burn, burn.

Then just glow.

Don't try to sell me something I can't afford.

Crass paintings.

Dummies of the ethereal life.

Where jazz bands were once a backdrop,

now become screamingly obvious.

They're all fools.

They don't know about the real thing.

The true magicians' tools.

Beauty lies in the eyes of the admirer.

Darn those eyes that don't see this wild beauty.

Bring me the cocktail of the day.

One last day.

Soft candles,

become a blazing forest fire.

It's still delightful.

A sour punch.

Colors on feathers.

An intimate thump.

Beep on the beach.

Cliched, but feel it to believe it.

Fast forward.

Zip forward.

Lifeless life.

In my face.

Unpack the suitcase.

Do I behave like an insolent child?

I don't care.

I want to go back now.

Now.

Now.

Now.

Raw passion consumes.

The drowsy 'high' resumes.

Cheap copies make way,

toward my original life I sway.

Where I belong.

The call is strong.

Major pull.

Hot, humid.

High, high tide.

Speeding boats.

Wind in my hair.

Aromatic dreams.

Pull.

Pull.

Jungle call.