The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

Words I drown myself in, Careful of any drop I spill, I tell myself that I shouldn't feel so much, Because the letters I write somedays sends shivers down my spine. Eyes all seeking, looking for signals, To show me that I have lost control of my reins. The doors of insecurity lay wide open, windows I had opened to escape is an illusion That will soon wear off. So I close the door because enough is enough. I overthink, I talk to myself, I think, I make decisions that break me, But I promise myself it's for the best, If not, sing me a lullaby while I cry. The days I have lived taught me to let go,  of way too many things that I would have been on my knees begging if it was yesterday. The art of accepting things just as they are A sudden awareness of the delusions I had held onto so voluntarily, Even though they were burning holes in my mind. So bear with me, I am trying to complete myself, I am learning to understand myself, I am leaving things behind

The arrival of the unborn child for whom I have been praying for as long as ten years. Every visit to your home, I return religious, I go down on my knees and cry, for the miracle. Every drink you make me with love, I steady myself to not cry into it, maybe I should. The salt could dissolve the sorrow that gets stuck onto my mind like glue. I listen to every funny story you have to tell, mindful of the extra person I might be listening for, for the time being. The time being. I saw you cry for the first time when you heard she was pregnant, do you know how contagious your happiness is? The day I overheard my parent's conversation about how all the expectations of that day died, bleeding, unable to make an entrance to our lives still haunts me. I still pray, and sometimes in my dream I play with the lonely and charming boy that smiles at me from the corner of the room, resembling his father's handsome face and his mother's warm smile. ____________________________________

She wiped the tears off her child's face as we play with the dews of dawn we find on leaves ; completely immersed in the idea to not leave any imprints. The slight dragging of the dews that leaves behind its remnants are what the mother's frustation of not being able to deprive it's child of its sorrow is made of. I couldn't stop looking at the mother and her two children at the bus-stand. I didn't know if the baby was hers, but the boy was. They had identical eyes. Amber eyes, the kind that poets dwelled in, lovers drowned in, and the kind that always has a lovely metaphor with it; unlike how they looked now, abandoned. The boy caught me looking at them, and I smiled at him. He didn't return the gesture and stiffened under my eyes. I felt guilty and looked away. But I couldn't look away for long, there was something about them. An aura of mystery, blanketed despair hovering around their body, and the way his mother smiled, something just didn't f

From the sunsets we drew in our notebooks to the ones we shared with our loved ones, it has been a long journey. No matter what happens in our life, we would all learn to love again. Our hearts were made to be soft and vulnerable. It will elapse through the most toughest of times and still beat soft in the face of affection. The most heart-warming miracle and it is all the more lovable because both you and me have witnessed it, even if it was for a fleeting moment. When you get to talk to your bestfriend after a constant struggle to make time for each other. Or when she suddenly texts you that she misses you. Or when he holds your hand for a few seconds. Or when you see someone happy just because of you. Maybe once in a while, we should let these moments make us feel whole. To understand the presence of our existence. A purpose for our flawed and scarred heart. You could be running around your room with no pants on to find one so that you wouldn't miss the sunset. Becaus

I promised myself that I wouldn't write about you, again. Waking up few days after it was over, I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I couldn't try to reach you. Not that I couldn't, but I shouldn't. I didn't know how to tell my mother how the one boy who I was so adamant about broke my heart. I didn't know how to tell my brother that he should take me to the beach quite often for the days to come. Because I never thought you would be a synonym of the sea, coming in big waves and leaving slowly, full of desire and grief. And I wanted to be around anything that didn't remind me of you. I couldn't listen to music for days, without crying. Somehow, they were all about you. I remember leaving the room when I heard 'All I want' playing. It just had too many memories, that I didn't want to waste away with my tears. The constant confirmation that maybe we weren't meant to be, or the miracle of him was frightening. I was just g

When you didn't deny the touch of my bruised hands, that was when I knew I'd always be there for you.  We needed each other desperately, to get through the clouds of sadness that night had to offer. I still remember lying down next to you, making sure that I didn't hug you. It had everything to do with my phobia of people leaving and nothing to do with the trembling of my body as I took painful, shuddering breaths. "I am sorry.", he said. She looked angry and I was breaking down. And as he was descending down the steps, I held onto her hands, she forcefully brushed them off. I hugged her tighter, hoping for a flashing moment maybe this would all end. End in the most simplest and painless way. I pushed the thought away immediately, but the pieces of her broken heart were piercing into mine and I couldn't hold on for long. He left without a word. He'd given up on love, he'd given up on them, he'd given up on trying to save me. As I watched h

There are days we wish we didn't get to live, There are days we hope to relive once more, There are days that hold no meaning and light, There are days when you become a mirage of dreams, There are days when the hot shower is your solace, There are days when you feel like nothing could hold you back, There are days when you lie on your mother's lap crying, There are days you seek out your bestfriend for a piece of mind, There are days when you remember things you don't want to, There are days you feel like nothing could fix the cracks on your heart, There are days when you dance foolishly around your room, There are days you can't stop giggling thinking about the guy you met, There are days when you hold out your hands to the sky and catch a star, There are days when you become one with the beautiful sky, And there are days. Maybe that's all we need to hold onto, That there will always be days to live.

'Are you happy with your life?', I ask him, taking precarious measures to make sure he would not lie. Sometimes people can be so cruel, they know exactly where it hurts and yet make sure they don't miss the spot. He loves happiness but he is committed to peace. He pretended the words of his son were only met with indifference, but when you see him writing down the fight they had in his small diary with tears in his eyes, my heart falls apart. When he denies being tired after work, but see him snoring away his off-day when he's usually chirpier during that time of the day, my heart falls apart. When she teases him for crying for all the silly reasons, I smile but when I see that he doesn't smile back, my heart breaks. You know, there is nothing I won't do for that man. Startled by my sudden appearance, he prepares to throw away the cigarette he had just burned. "Don't. It's fine. But tell me, are you happy with your life?", I ask again, a

Soft goodbyes and hard smiles are all that I remember about you. You made it look like talking was hurtful. Like speaking a word would make your mouth bleed. And I loved how surprised you looked after a long conversation with me. I used to smile then. And you would smile back, rustling your hair slightly. You finally gave in. You weren't afraid of seeing me, talking with me, touching me. You said you were the happiest. And I flinched a little. To be responsible for someone's happiness is like holding a beating heart. Even though you look at it with fascination at a point, you have to let it die in your hands. And I was good at letting things die. You never said goodbye. And I said it all the time. You responded with a smile, or a nod, or a weak wave of hands. I wish you did too. You said you could never watch me go. That it breaks your heart a little. I'd tease you for sounding all cheesy. And you would laugh. But you weren't lying. Were you? Everytime we were ap

I hear whispers as I walk to the lake, An ancient story of a girl being dragged, Into the deep waters by two welcoming hands. I turn back to discover the whispering voices, Only to be met by layers of air, reeking of silence. The whispers grow loud, describing the girl now, How her lips used to be so moist in places Where the hot tears fell and How her smile makes people wonder If she had lost her sanity How she used to make people forget their miseries, As they dwell and reminisce in her tragedies. I shush the voices as I near the lake, For I chose stillness over companionship, As something told me only then she'll let me Listen to her voice, her story. The voices continued yet, telling what she did to people She has left people stay isolated in their rooms, She had left them moaning, crawling and crying. It was as if a curse had been lifted and passed on to us, To cry the tears, to indulge in the solitude, to spend sleepless nights, That was promised

The frequent trips to the terrace at night was something to look forward to. The view wasn't marvelous but once you have had  a glance at the night sky, you wouldn't be disappointed. The two apartments opposite our building had few tales to tell in its silence. And for those who were eager to listen, they heard a murmur of wonder, habits and uncertainty.    The man with the cigarette reminded me of two people. My grandfather would always hid his pack of cigarettes from me, although I never really know the reason why. Whenever I find him smoking or discover his secret stash, he would let out a stretched 'ayyo' and has a look of despair and regret on his face. I would scold him childishly. But  I was always confused. Was it the face I made? The one I learned from my mother when she finds dad smoking. The look had grown on me. But the meaning of it hadn't crossed my mind- disappointment? What about the days when she lets him smoke when he has had a rough day? Her

I wake up from what seems like a long sleep. My body is too tired to move. Before I open my eyes, I stretch my hands to reach out to my bedside stand so as to grab my spectacles. It had become a habit almost, not allowing myself to see with my weak vision. It had worsened throughout the years. I can feel how weak I have become. My hands brush past the stand, wait it was a table, unfamiliar texture. I knock down something, which wakes up someone sitting on a chair beside my bed. I open my eyes, I can barely make out my mom from the mirage of her familiarity. She tells me everything is okay which clearly implies that it is not. I ask for my spectacles. She hands them over to me. The first thing I notice is her face. Dried tears. I caress my weak hands over her soft skin. "Why are you crying?" She burst into sobs of tears and fears. She runs out, leaving me alone. Is it right to leave a dying person alone? Dying. It doesn't matter anymore. I  still remember how I sc

I can sense my desire to reach out to you. To delicately wrap my fingers around that one single thread, Keeping my reflexes in control to not make a mistake, One strong pull and I would have you broken, In my arms for a while, I would feel you, Never really knowing how to fix you. So I take my time, and with each touch I murmur my desire to my lips, Reminding myself of why I had to have you. But is that what it takes? Oh is that what it takes. And then it broke, the thin thread stroking my fingers, Lifeless and calm, neither the strong wind nor I could resurrect you, You didn't budge even a little, so I left you there, My heart too weak to try and my hands bleeding, Not a tear fell, not a single heartbeat, not even a tinge of regret, But a thought whizzed by, and echoed indifference. And I knew, This is not what it takes.

After years of struggling, we finally convinced Papa. We were taking driving classes. It was super fun when we had them together. After an exhausting 10 minutes of driving each, we three would come home giggling. The teacher would drop us off at the bakery. Despite the plans we made yesterday night after the heavy dinner, we would drift into bakery with such big smiles. One lime soda, two neiyappam and one undampori . Within seconds, we were devouring it like hungry kids. Someone you were nice to the other day would come to talk to us and you would tuck away the remaining neiyappam back into the plastic bag, struggling to swallow the piece you had in your mouth . Oh god, how much I love her. It's these small moments,you know. You see them doing something as simple as brushing their hair or picking up a flower that you realise you love them. Eventually, we would reach home, sweating, thirsty and utterly tired. We would lie down on the bed. We would compliment Ryan on his

He writes down the name of every girl he has fallen in love with. What a strange thing to do. For people like us, for whom love came like the showers in desert, so rare, using a pen and a paper to remember people was futile. We had them etched in our hearts. Too beautifully sculpted for eternity. I could sense pride in his eyes. I wanted to erase it. I told him there was nothing so precious about his little idea. He calls us rigid, too scared to open up, to fall in love, always worried about the consequences. He was right. I kept my silence, hastily thinking of ways to prove him wrong. He wanted me to talk. Not to listen, but to prove me wrong again and again. And I wanted to talk. But I wanted to listen more. So I ask him about the girls. His stories were exceptional. I didn't want to admit it at first, but I finally gave in. People like him, they gave it all. All of them, whole. The intense desire to prove him wrong turned to faint admiration. And within seconds, I started

Among all the wildflowers I have ever met, You will always hold a special place. Never would I be able to explain, The intimacy of our paper-thin encounter, And the glorious journey thereafter. I passed by you the first time, the second time, and well the third time does bring the charm. And then and there, I knew, I felt, The cluster of magic being added to our stories. As the day passes, taking back all the memories and regrets, Stripping us of all the miniscule moments of emotions, I still can't help remembering my life without you. Among all the wildflowers I have found in the wild, I hope you love the place you bloomed.

There are many moments in one's life that makes us realise that nothing will be the same anymore. The air you breathe, your own voice, your home, the sky, everything looks different now. It could be for better or for worse. And as a person, I keep these moments close to my heart. Be it damaging or enlightening, they always have a place. A place I visit often. The day was as boring as any day could be. Everyone moving on with their daily chores and conversations. The same faces I see everyday, I walk by everyday, only today I actually wanted to know how they were feeling today. I wanted to know whether they were happy or sad, anxious or relaxed, angry or monotonous. I wanted to know. Because I knew this day wasn't like the other days. At least for me. I could see him, cycling away, in front of me. I wondered whether he felt the same. I don't remember what happened that day. I think people lie when they say they can remember a day like they were living it today. A bl