The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

I feel like a 13year old when I see a park, a 16-year old when I am on a swing and feel my whole body lift off the ground, 19 years old when my heart fills with joy at the resonating sounds of laughs about how stupid I look. I was 13 years old when I saw you in a different light for the first time, thought it wasn't love because I had no insects in my stomach,but you felt like my person and somehow that wasn't enough, 16 year old when I almost gave my number to the most sweetest guy I know, felt like a 19 year old when I realised that I didn't want to go through any of it again. I feel like a 13 year old whenever I cry, 16 when I tell myself I shouldn't cry in front of others because I am old, 19 when I realise I can cry even more and loudly this time around. I was 13 years old when I loved to talk with people, all swarmed around me, 16 when I finally started opening up to people, 19 years old when I realise I crave for a talk over dinner and beach visits with my f

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