The Deranged Thoughts Of A Girl

Chapter - 4 Love,love, love, where do I start? I loved being in love. No, I love being in love. I fell in love with eye contacts and smiles the moment I heard stories of long-lost loves. The ones where they promised to come back but wasn't heard of after, lost in time and wars.The ones where they confessed to each other only through eyes and hesitated to attend a get together party 23 years later being another's spouse. The ones that got lost in letters,in diaries, in terrible sights and in their smiles when they hear the word 'love'.  I love words. I love how I'd have to pause in between love stories and giggle. I remember finishing 'The God of Small things' and thinking how much Velutha loved Ammu and the most beautiful part is she knew. I remember praying for Cecilia and Robbie to reunite halfway through the book 'Atonement'. I love characters even though they are the writer's imaginations. The writers are strange creatures, they have the imme

Chapter - 3  A small note. I can't seem to remember the last time I felt like I wanted to disappear, which is a good sign. Disappear as in not an attempt for people to understand my worth, but just to erase the whole existence. When I think of it now, I feel like I was cruel to myself.  To Lily, I am sorry to have let you believe that you were in this alone for as long as I could remember. I know things would have been much better for you if only I'd answered those cries for help. I am glad that you stood up for yourself when they shamed you, even though you had to face consequences for the way you talked. I wished to console you but you were thinking about it too, like I was - was it true what they said? Was it really true? I cried a little when I saw you look in the mirror, never shredding a tear because you were used to it.  I am sorry that I let you believe that you couldn't love yourself, let alone others . The thoughts we had that you would always be a passer-by in ev

Chapter 2: Hate. Hate is such a strong word. I could never bring myself to look someone in the face and say 'I hate you' and mean it. But I have met people who could and it frightens me. The mere possibility of someone being filled with dread and anger at the thought of someone else. I always ask why, why do you hate them but the answers always go over my head. It scares me even more because I know it might be possible for me, for me to hate a person. Here's a story.  My grandma and I have these sessions in the afternoon where we talk until one of us falls asleep. We tell stories, talk about the day, talk about the future and sometimes about the past. One such afternoon, she decided to tell me a story. I still believe to this day that it was the comforting sunlight that gave enough warmth as a mother's breast, or the coolness of the pillow that would rock me to sleep, or the strange assurance of a listener that would be present till the end of the story, was what gave h

This is it. Chapter 1: Skies. I don't remember the first time I fell in love with the sky, but I vaguely remember why. I had a very poor eyesight and my eyes would always be glued to the ground. I knew something was wrong but was so hesitant as to seek anyone's help. When I knowingly started shifting to the first benches in classrooms and scrapping my knees every so often, I decided to tell my mother. I still remember that day. The day I got my first pair of spectacles, I looked away from the ground and then up. It was such a beautiful sight and I felt loved. It filled my little heart with so much glee to see such refined colours. And my first thought was 'Is this how everyone sees?' . Strange, isn't it? What's even more strange is the fact that I enjoy watching the sky alone. Not with a group of friends, or with a lover, or with someone who needs a shoulder to cry on. But alone. I was and still am afraid to share somethin g so magnificent an

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. ____________________________________