The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

Once upon a time, there was a woman who was a little crazy in her head. Or so they said. Wait, this is how you begin stories that people listen to,right? Okay, let's continue. She found a liking to my mother because my mother was a gem when it came to conversations. She usually exhausted her evenings by talking to the old men who exchanged words only to buy more time to stare at her breasts. But since she found a liking to my mother, she'd wait around and accompany her in her evening walks. There's someone who's excited to meet you, my mother would say and I would be excited too.  One day, I finally met her. She is the type of person you'd find a immediate liking to. She talked with so much love and joy in her eyes. She was also funny, well funny in a way that might scare the society. Let me explain. While we were walking,this middle-aged man passed us by and said to my mother "Oh! You have got the best walking companion.",looked over to the woman and said

The moonlight shined through everything broken in her, And he'd watch her become an aura of light when the night arrives. All the dark nights that had called for a friend, He'd watch her tears glow and brush them off. Now as he sits beside an empty chair, he wonders if he is broken too.  He wonders if he should have let her tears cascade and form a puddle in his hands, The warmth from it giving birth to words he wished he had said now. The outlines of her face softened with time, And he couldn't remember what her laugh sounded like. He was slowly forgetting her,  all that was left of her was an emptiness with so much love to give. So much love.  He wonders if he'll recognise her in the crowd after all these years, Or would he regret the photographs he burnt in an attempt to forget her. He wonders if he'll ever remember her like the day she left, And he couldn't ask her to stay. The longing for a person that would never come back, And the carefully woven sentence

We all think about tragedies. It doesn't necessarily have to happen to us, it could be anyone's. Maybe it is an underlying feeling in ourselves borne out of sympathy. No, is it empathy? The way we dwell in the sorrow of others like we have none of our own makes me want to believe in the world. Even if it would be a sad one.  When I see someone in pain, I hope that this isn't the first time tragedy has struck them. I hope it is the fourth or fifth or second time because by then you'll slowly learn how to cope with it. And the fact that we have to is saddening by itself but aren't we all done trying asking for things to be better? Aren't we all tired of kneeling and praying in front of everyone and everything that makes us want to believe in hope again? Aren't we all tired of making closed rooms, taps running and walls our solace? Aren't you?  But the first time. The first time strikes as loud as the clock strikes twelve at night, a feeling of unknown impe

Why does everything have to be so poetic? I ask myself all day long  Only to find myself succumbed amid Words, poems, people and minute things, Glamourising every inch of the letter, rhyme, Body and feelings. Why does everything have to be so poetic? I ask myself when I come across  romanticization of emotions by famous poets and writers, Does a person make you feel like that? Do I have to feel like that to know it's love?  Because the last time I knew I was in love, I was just happy, you know. Why does everything have to be so poetic? I ask myself as I listen to songs about heartbreak. Should I ache with every bit of my soul  And immerse myself in tunes of sorrow and remorse? Should I rock myself to sleep with every scenario playing in my head? Because the last time I felt heartbreak, I felt so very sad looking at them, you know. Why does everything have to be so poetic? I ask myself as I watch the rain without a care in the world. My mind so empty and full of thoughts That I star

"My muse? What a strange thing to ask." I said, looking deeply into the eyes of the person sitting across me. She looked a bit intimidated and I felt an unease nudging in myself to relax the mood.  "I mean, what a wonderful thing to ask." I said with a sigh. She reminded me why I stopped conversing with people in the first place; the impending idea of being nice to everyone was eating me alive. It didn't come as easy as before. When she asked to meet, I said yes because I was tired of how I saw the world and I desperately needed to watch it with someone with different ideas to save myself. I recognised her as soon as I stepped into the cafe. It was hard not to notice her with her bright yellow dress that had hundreds of small cars on it. I caught a glimpse of myself through the glass doors as I prepared to leave. So different. So very different. I took a deep breath, turned around and walked toward her table.  "Hey. Did I make you wait for long?" I ask