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. 

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. 

Mine.

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.
Yours,
The Frozen Flame. 

Ramblings

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.

A.

You always fail the most important people in your life. You let them down because the place you hold for them in your life gives them more than just a modicum of expectations. You perceive them to be in an outside ring of your daily life, in another realm than the monotonous encounters, glances exchanged with that person who caught your attention across the street, brainless banter during unending nights, that fail to imprint upon your memories, but end up casting a faint shadow on the comfort valve of your happy reservoir. They don't sit well with moderation, with being taken lightly. It's not ok to count them in the same breath as 'X person I met the other day and was so cool, you know, like had a really interesting vibe.' They're life-changers. They're permanent and permeable and get under your skin. They just land up some night in your life, brought to you by a shimmering sky reflected off a black sea with illusory boats composed of white waves, about to crash into you, crash into me. Their heart is golden, like the sand your feet sprinted across together. Their heartbeat just like the beats that boomed through every nerve of your body making you dance like every second of your existence depended on it. Their words, like music to your parched ears. Their souls connect to yours as if when each was formed, a little piece of it chipped away just at a point where they could merge and find each other, at the one part where they would intersect during the winding course of their craggy lives. You can't believe your luck when you find them. When all your life your experiences have been non-committal, plastic, where you get the expensive end of the bargain and have to fight to just keep afloat, after a life like that, the sincerity, honesty and undeserved respect you receive is an unreal kind of reality. It's so pure you're scared to touch it, lest you malign it with even your tarnished silhouette. These unnamed relationships don't put up well with anything short of intensity and extremity, but if you take it that far it starts behaving like quicksand before you can say goodbye. I met you with numbered days, but you've made this the most beautiful number I could have asked for and it's now my favourite. You make me see what a window with only floating lanterns and fireworks outside it looks like, without a trace of the smoke. You enable me to want all or nothing, to be content with me but even happier with you. You give me positive verbs and emotions and a story to tell and I hope I can mould the ending into a souvenir that reminds me of seashells, boundless joy, limitless laughter and summer rain on winter nights. I like the possibility of you even if I can't have you, one way or the other you're leaving me with such a good feeling that all I can do is thank you for it. Your energy is unprecedented and you generously direct its colour to the black and white of other people's lives. Unconditionally. I'm one of the lucky beneficiaries and the different shades to the horizon rendered by the dawn's, dusk's and midnight's is how beautiful your aura is, and I just want to shut my eyes, feel my hair blowing out with the wind and bask in the reflection of that light. Until next time. 


You're treating me like a treasure trove.
Unwrapping,
unfurling,
driving me crazy. 

Skin.

Maybe it's been 365 days of the most beautiful roller-coaster. Maybe it's the mark of a crowning glory on the last day. Maybe it's a big achievement and the selfishness of it's external comparisons that render it a happiness-like quality. Whatever it is, more I don't recognise myself, the more I like myself and as and when the blanket of familiarity draws closer, so does a sense of derision. It's strange, this process of learning- of growing up. They tell you you will accumulate, build, create. They leave out the parts about losing, crumbling and destructing. Where you grasp the essence of unconditional love, a love without boundaries or barriers or warriors, without a requisite number of people feeling the feeling, not bound by unnecessary necessary banal activities lying to draw people closer but actually designed to drive them further apart. I love you, and if you never do, it's ok, but if you don't want to, I'll smile and let you go because there are no conditions except one. My love for you. Where you grasp this, you also fumble with the concept of black, white and grey; right, wrong and I-don't-know. Is it always so simple? Am I always right? I must be, since becoming all worldly-wise? See how ridiculous that sounds yet it's a very plausible possibility in your enlightened mind. A mind that tells you there's a distinct line yet doesn't know which side of it the missing piece of puzzle lies. You let it out on those that disagree. Disagreement doesn't sit well with this new persona. The changing unchanged bits of it are the most affection-generating ones though. Travel to places, to hearts, feet, souls, landscapes, oceans, vehicles, temples, graveyards, vineyards, airports, stations, instruments, music and lives of brave-hearts are on top of the list, at the bottom and in the middle. It is the list and while I pen down lines that I've dreamt of the previous night and hope (latest poison) for a sturdy shoulder to come home to and rest on, it is still the only list and there is no place yet, for anything else. Not even warmth.  

you touch me within 

and so I know

I could be human once again- Grimes

Spanish Sahara, Greek Abandon & My Very Own Oasis

Breathe.

When I turn around and I see the two of you, that's where I want to be. 
A place where the background changes landscapes like watching an old, silent, black and white movie being played out in some art-nouveau museum that I've wanted to go to all my life, only so I can sit in a dark and quiet room and do nothing but watch beautiful women blow smoke at the camera while holding a thin cigarette in dandelion-like fingers. 

Romanticise.

If I wake up feeling like Sinatra and go to bed feeling like Bukowski, that's how I want to feel. If I have an apartment on an untouched-by-culture-fusion lane in Barcelona, I want you two there. When I look up and see the sun streaming in to destroy the unneeded presence of all the lamps made from all the hands that I'll never know, I want to be able to see you two when I turn back around to pick up that lighter from the shade. I want to see you fighting over bathroom hours, bed choices, men choices, life choices and making meaningful trivialities like picking up one thought from every mile travelled just to have a sentence at the end of your life that everyone wants to be a part of because it's the most hauntingly-liberating sentence they would've ever heard. I want to see you when I look up from the playlist of love, the summer of life, the bar of exotic and from the mind of one who is truly forlorn. 

Describe.

Galleries, museums, open-top buses, hair in the wind, smoke swirling in loose strands of hair, dingy poison coves, with flames atop the poison making it even more poisonous and lustful, sand in the space between my toes and slippers, ruffled sheets and invaded sanctuary's, French distractions and some memories that have a way of making their presence felt even as they are occurring, telling you slowly, softly, that try as you may, you sure as hell won't forget me. When a tear escapes, my heart breaks and goes out to you and I can't comprehend why on Earth something on this planet would be cruel enough to hurt you. If I had two hearts I would give them both to you, but for now, here, I've broken this one in two. A half each. Don't think I'm going to be needing it for a long time. Keep it.

See.

Keep it and the next time you're jumping off a plane, or a cliff or a height that you've reached all by yourself, don't think but for a moment, for one moment think of me and take that piece of me with you because I will dream of it. Because I will dream of the jubilation and the adrenaline pumping through me and the pure happiness at finding no one else but you two on the ground, and it will be like I'm there. I'll dream of that perpetual drowsy feeling easily mistaken for inebriation but mostly just contentment, a feeling of not wanting to move an inch from where I stood, with you. I'll dream of brilliantly blue waters like a sea of our perfect reflections that I could swim in for an eternity, I'll dream of tapping feet, all-consuming music and the most fierce kind of intensity we may ever get to see in swishing red dresses and sharp black suits in the form of this illusion called flamenco... and I'll sleep soundly.

Devour.

Snapshots of a lifetime. A lifetime. That I don't want to leave behind. People I could never get over, because some are meant as balm for the soul. And I'm told that when you find the sort you dance yourself into oblivion, into a world where you can only see them and the Irish voices, dizzying lights and the gliteratti just become mere tapestry in the room where a genius song was being composed. One whose music was composed on the beach as the sun came up, and lyrics coined as a beautiful island neared from very many thousand feet up in the sky, where birds would be envious of you. A song, that was bound to sync every nerve, every vein in your body with the perfect movie. A movie, that was us. 

Reel.

When an expanse of blue merges with white and all you have to do is plunge into the deep end of the blue only to resurface at the darkest hour with the brightest stars paving your way and dim candles and frosted glasses illuminating your life, nothing can possibly go wrong. When we have each other and we have the best fucking Swedish music bursting through our temples and right down to electrifying our toes, we have nothing to worry about and we have nothing to yearn for. Except this. So much more of this. And so much more of life, in different latitudes and longitudes and coasts and mountains and poisons. You two are like sangria- delicious happiness in a jar. Don't try and wake me up just yet. Let the best dream I've ever had, finish, please. 

Breathe. 

-And the seasons
Will change us new
But you're the best I've known
And you know me
I could not be stuck on you
If it weren't true- Blind Pilot