The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

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