I've taken to deliberately putting myself in situations which should hurt me, just to see if I feel anything.

I don't. No tears, nothing. Just a hollowness.

I just do not feel anything, at all.

If I look in the mirror, there is no expression on my face.

I don't know what it is. I welcome the numbness, though.

If this doesn't hurt, nothing can. Nothing will get to me, or hurt me. Nothing will get through these walls. Nothing will ever cause me pain again.

If I try to remember what it used to feel like, nothing comes to me. It feels like everything's always been blank in me. I can think about everything for hours. Days even. And it won't bother me.

It's like I'm what you remember me as just so you won't worry about me.

Please don't, I'm fine.

4 am Confessions.

This post is absolutely pointless, but I need to clear my head.


1) If I block something out, or pretend to be doing it enough, I can almost believe it's real.

2) How does it feel to have someone who's insane about you? Powerful? Guilty? Amused? Pleased? Let me know.

3) I like it when I see emails addressed to me. Personal ones. From real people. Hardly ever happens, but there it is.

4) I have no idea what to do with my life. I would like to fast forward at least the next 3 years.

5) Give me a sign? Hit me baby one more time? Hahaha.

6) I'm turning 18 next month, and I don't want to. It's not any of the "OMG transitional phase in life" crap, getting senti about shit. Seen enough 18 year olds to know its bull. I'd like to be....well... 21? 22? 23? Just out of this "teen" phase.

7) I wish I'd met you later in life. It was the wrong time to have bumped into you. Sometimes, I wonder whether I should stop talking to you and resume contact 5 years later. Would it change things?

8) I have weird issues with people liking me. I have weird issues with people not liking me. If life went the way I'd want it to go, I'd still have weird issues. So I just have weird issues.

9) My friends mean the world to me. You're one of the most special ones. It means a lot when you call and apologise in your own silly way. I like feeling like I mean something. Not just to you, to all my friends.

10) I know I've driven people up the wall with my whining and ranting, and yet they've been tolerant.( Thank you Zh=)) But I can't handle it when people whine to me if I think their issues are insignificant. I don't know if I'm a bitch for it or not.

11) I like being looked out for. I like looking out for people who mean something to me.

12) Despite everything this has probably been the best winter of my life in the past 4 or 5 years. I'm going to miss you losers. A lot.

13) I have peculiar taste in friends. Seriously peculiar taste. I like it quite a bit, actually.


Rest I'll save for my special New Year post.
Hahah. I am so lame. I love it.

Who needs love- Razorlight.

Hahahaha.*rolls eyes*


Oooh darling who needs love?
Who needs a heaven up above?
Who needs the clouds, in the sky, not I

Oooh darling who needs the rain?
Who needs somebody that can feel your pain?
Who needs the disappointment, of a telephone call, not I
No I don't need that at all, not I

I'm, tired of love
Yeah, sick of love
I've taken more than enough

Oooh darling who needs the night?
The sacred hours, the fading life
Who needs the morning, and the joy it brings, not I
I've got my mind on other things, not I

Oooh darling who needs joy?
Who needs a perfect girl or boy?
And who needs to draw, that person near, not I
Because they always disappear, not I

And you know, I'm, tired of love
Yeah
Yeah I'm, sick of love
Yeah
You give me more than enough

I'm gone!

Oooh darling who needs love?
Who needs a heaven up above?
Who needs all the arguments, who needs to be right, not I
But I just can't give up without a fight, not I
No I just can't give up without a fight, not I
No I just can't give up without a fight, not I
No no no not I
Ooh no no not I

The crying all night-all day pattern has already started.
Even before he's left. I'm beginning to feel like a puffy faced fish.
As Min Min said "Dude, we're so emo, it's actually funny."
And so it is.

MakeitstopMakeitstopMakeitstop.Please.

I can't stand being in his presence, I can't stand not being around him when he's actually here.

Either way, I'm going to be crying.
I hate being such a moron.
Yuck.

And so eloquently expressive I am too, wow.

His pictures make the world look like it's exploding with colour.

I feel like the grey area he's never going to notice.

But these stories don't mean anything
When you've got no one to tell them to.

How?

The tide washes away hums of heartbreak with saltwater, stinging, cleansing. I sit by the shore, feet in water on a cold december evening and think as my toes turn blue and numb, as twilight changes into night and the moon shines in an empty sky. A round, white orb in the midst of vast blackness.

And I think.

I think, and I think, and I think, till my thoughts transform themselves into a mesh of barbed wire that plunges into my mind, and the pounding in my ears grows louder and louder till I can't differenciate it from the roar of the frothy waves, can't tell which is more real.

***********
In the warmth of bed there is cold. An empty, hollow, frozen feeling of oblivion. There is no respite from the numbness that seeps in as hot tears come out in spurts, sudden, stifled, choking sobs. All let out into the inky blackness of quilts pulled up over.

**********
How do I let it happen every time, and why?
So used to it now, I've even got a soundtrack for it. Apparently, my personal soap opera doesn't end.

So, I made the decision that needed to be made.
Now to go about it.Meh.

Sadness. Lots and lots and lots of it. I should fill it up in a bottle and throw it into the sea.

If things don't turn out right this time round, I will lose faith.
In God.

Alone.

'Cause in the end, that's what it always comes down to.

You have the whole world around you, and yet there's no one, and nothing.

Here Lies Moonshine-by Pluto88.

A friend wrote this. And I can relate. And hence:


She says, 'You draw comparisons and ask me to choose, to choose, and I cannot think, because you will not speak enough, just enough to cloud my judgment, never enough

'I never wished to speak, never to promise, for fear I would speak too much, and you will not stand it, but you violate our code, and jump the borders -

'The moon sinks so low, oh-so-low it breaks my heart, because it's so surreptitious and you do nothing to stop it

'His whisper taints my judgment, and you can no longer twist it, in your ungodly manner, not that you have reserved even that for me (not that you would sink so low hither),

'They always undermine heartfelt confessions, and you're no different

'You let me fall and slide into disintegration, and I can see it all dissolve around me, while she falls around you

I wish I could say I'm over and done with you, and have the will power to follow it through.
I wish I'd stop feeling hurt over something that can't change.
And I wish, really, really wish, you'd stop.


Just come back?
Who am I kidding.

My last memory of you takes me back to the hospital.
Regret.

Alone.

I can't explain why I feel like this. I've come to terms with everything, I honestly have. And I'm trying not to be melodramatic, because I know that's irritating. But I can't explain it to anyone. Just this feeling of loneliness that doesn't leave me alone. Maybe I've become one of those people who need to be in a relationship to feel normal.

It's not intentional.
It's just something that happens.

And I've posted it here before, but :

" Such journeys have convinced me that it is not always possible to restore one's boundaries after they have been blurred and made permeable by a relationship: try as we might, we cannot reconstitute ourselves as the autonomous beings we previously imagined ourselves to be. Something of us is now outside, and something of the outside is now within us."-- From The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid.

And because there is no reconstitution, we look for love elsewhere, look for one more person, look to divide ourselves even further, become a fraction smaller and smaller, until there's no more us, but just pieces of other "special" people.

I'm scared of becoming that person. So scared. I'll implode, if there's one more. And that is why there isn't.

Closure is a lie. A big, fat, stinking lie.

It's not a bloody competition.
It hurts, it hurts a lot.
All my life I've just lived through comparisons.

You can't send me on a guilt trip.
I always have an answer to throw back in your face.
So don't. Save me the misery, and just don't.
Because it's not my fault you left.

Claustrophobia

There's no getting out of this, it's the same everyday. The same suffocation, the same mounting gloom, just the same. Waking up everyday into a nightmare and waiting to sleep because that's the only respite from all this monotony. Maybe that's why I feel so drowsy. The same people. The same city. The same place. Each day is a carbon copy of its predecessors, with the minutest degree of change, like those pictures which look identical but if you look closely you might see a few tiny differences. Exactly like that. But those tiny differences, those microscopic deviations aren't enough. They've never been, or maybe I ask for too much.

Being nagged, and nagged, and nagged until my head is pounding with a thousand irritating commands, until I can't block it out anymore. Instructions, rules, laws, there's just so many.

And then there's people. I don't want new people, at all. I just want my people. They aren't many,I've got a few. And I want them around me all the time, I want them to surround me and protect me and be there for me, just like a cocoon, and let me be with them. Just someone who I can attach myself to and not let go of. Maybe that's why I get clingy.

I suppose I'm waiting for some sort of a miracle, something that will save me, because I need saving. I'm not insane, that much I know. But that's the only thing I'm aware of, because I don't know what I am. Always hollow, always empty. I fill the air around myself with words because I can't take silences. I can't be the same inside and out. So I talk. And it's meaningless gibberish, but at least it shuts off my thoughts, and escaping from those has become a must. They're like a constant drone in my mind, and when it's bad, they ricochet off the walls of my skull ( at least that's what it feels like to me.)

And then there's home. Wandering around from here to there or hiding in my room, that's all there is to it. Getting out is not an option, because going out too much is "awaara gardi", and I can't explain to mum what I feel like, because this isn't something she'd comprehend. She doesn't have time for my silly frivolities. No one does, and I don't blame them. But it isn't sympathy I want. It's escape, even for a little while.

So I go to school. But lately, that's not working either. Because there's so many people, too many people. But they're just there and they don't mean anything to me apart from a few empty conversations, a few meaningless hellos, you see them, you talk to them, you come back and you forget all about them till the next day. I wait for the day to end so I can go back home. At home, I wait to fall asleep. It's just a constant process of waiting. When Min Min asks me why I'm so jaded, I don't know what to say to her. Because I don't know how to explain this constant torturous claustrophobia. Or what to do with myself.

Voice.

I am the silence that punctuates the pauses in your conversation, when your thoughts stop and stare at the world drive by, and collect themselves. You remember my words, I make sure of that, somehow you do. Nothing remarkable in what I say, it's just us I suppose. It's not the subject matter, it's the inflections of my voice, it's what I am to you: a voice. And if you were to forget what I say, then you wouldn't remember me, because I am not real.

I am a voice in your head.

I've been a Voice for the longest time, I'm so used to being just that and nothing more.

That is all I have ever been, might forever be to you. So i can't let you forget, because you're more than a voice to me although your voice is all I've heard too.

I can,and I will choose to live without any of you.

Just go.

I try not to think about you, to divert my attention but bottling it up never helped and when I can't control it anymore it hits me like a huge tidal wave of ice cold sea water, and i'm in too deep to escape.

I need a way out, I cannot handle this because it hurts so fucking much. I can't talk to you, I can't tell you because it's no use. But then I can't tell anyone else because nothing/no one helps. No one understands.

I don't open up to everyone. Yes, I'm a very friendly person,and yes, I'm not secretive about everything. But opening up to someone, it's not easy. Sharing dreams, hopes, insecurities. You can't tell every random person. And I could tell you, but now I can't and it breaks my heart because you're not there to tell me you love me anymore.

Just. Not. There.

And you leave me to pick up the pieces, move on like nothing's happened. And I don't know how to do it. How to not have anyone over whom I have a right. How to not randomly dial a number and expect someone to be there.

My people keep on leaving me, and there's no disaster management, because I've learnt how to give and not to take.

I can't fucking turn to anyone. Everyone offers to help, but I just can't. And as the winter draws closer I'm reminded of promises that faded and it kills me.

I don't know what to do. It's all so incoherent in my head, and when I try to say it out, it's worse.

I need to be saved. Please help me.

Memories laced with personal pixie dust
and rainbows I saw through
Rose-coloured shades until.
They got trampled on, broken into pieces
I thought were plastic but pierced like glass
into a heart already chopped up and served
On A Platter once upon a time,
Not So Long Ago.

You look at me now and smile with regret,
I dwell on thoughts of
"Bring him back."
A fixation I was better without but
you left no options
and no way to escape.

There is no solace,
no mercy
no love.

You put me on a shelf and kept me for yourself,
I can only blame myself, you can only blame me.

You don't get it do you?
You don't get it that I can't fucking deal with this, with you.

It hurts.

It was nice, but we can't be friends.

Not that it makes a difference, my loss, not yours.

But, goodbye.

You're not tactful. You don't know what to say.

I know. But then I am not at fault here, and there's nothing that can be done.

You know what I feel like.

And I know what you feel like, and it's too bad.

So, goodbye.

Because you owe me nothing, and I expect nothing of you.

So tired of running after love.

So bloody tired, dejected, disillusioned.

Exhausted.

Of making fruitless efforts, meaningless compromises.

Of misunderstanding, and being misunderstood.

Of having it all thrown back into my face.

Of emotional roller coasters and the psychological nausea induced by them.

Of craving for just a hint of what I have given to you. To both of you.

Of the humiliation, the embarrassment, the futile hope.

Of how utterly useless these exercises are.

Of being taken for granted.

Of being wanted but not loved.

Of lusting after a genuine I love you.

Of you laughing it off and not being able to sum up even a sliver of the appropriate emotions.

And you for disappearing when I need you the most.

So easy for you to tell me to stop “running after love, waiting for it to come instead”, when you have it all down on a platter.

And so fucking easy for you to laugh my ranting off.

To disregard what I might feel like, both of you. Leaving me to shout at walls.

Permanent heart/head/stomach aches.

Stop forgetting about my existence, please. Stop taking me for granted. I am bloody sick of being a friend to you. Just sick of not being given the response I would die for.

And to the rest of the world, stop bloody whining about how your body aches, how it’s so meaningless when you’re not together, how it’s not working out.

At the very fucking least there is someone who would give up their existence just so you could have the life they want you to have, someone who thinks every bit of you is delicate porcelain, someone who fucking worships you, wants to spend every living moment with you.

I feel like I’m squeezing out love, wringing it out of my heart, to give to those who have none for me in return.

Believeyoume.

It hurts more than I care to admit to your face, that I make the same mistakes every damn time and it always ends up in me overdosing on Damien Rice and company.

What I am to you is not real
What I am to you you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me
You give me miles and miles of mountains
And I'll ask for the sea

From Modern Love by George Meredith

By this he knew she wept with waking eyes: That, at his hand's light quiver by her head, The strange low sobs that shook their common bed Were called into her with a sharp surprise, And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes, Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay Stone-still, and the long darkness flowed away With muffled pulses. Then, as midnight makes Her giant heart of Memory and Tears Drink the pale drug of silence, and so beat Sleep's heavy measure, they from head to feet WEre moveless, looking through their dead black years By vain regret scrawled over the blank wall. Like sculptured effigies they might be seen Upon their marriage-tomb, the sword between; Each wishing for the sword that severs all.

I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel - Maya Angelou

Faith.

Forgive me, for I sin.

I've become indifferent now.
To all of you.

And it's weird, but that's the way it is.

Godfuckingdamnit.
I need something to break.

And yes, I am angry. I can't be expected not to be.

So angry, I don't know how I'm resisting the urge to start shouting at walls and making scenes. Or stepping on shards of broken glass. Or refusing to speak to anyone at all.

That is the whole trouble with this love thing. Falling in love is like cutting your heart into pieces and everytime something ends, you leave a piece with whoever was kind enough to break it off. If I keep going this way, I'm going to need serious therapy. And so I won't.

It's not your fault, I'm just angry and I need to let it out. I knew it was inevitable but sometimes you have to throw out hollow curses just to see if someone will listen.

Another one bites the dust.

Here we go again.

Honestly, I give up on love and everything to do with it.

I try my best, I give it all I have and in the end fate still manages to screw me over.

I'm through with boyfriends. And love. And whatever else it is that people harp on about. It never works for me, and through no fault of my own.

Sometimes I feel like the defected piece someone picked up in a hurry and threw away after they realised it was broke. That's what it is.

And even if you don't have expectations, it hurts like a bitch.

=)

The dust settles slowly on the lost novelty of new ( but now old) love. Nowhere near as exciting and spontaneous as it used to be, but present all the same. You get used to it. That's where the real challenge lies: do you keep it, or do you cast it away and look for a new adventure?

I like keeping it.

There's something charming about completing his sentences and speaking out his thoughts. It feels like belonging to something/one.

And that's what I always wanted.

Rain.

Think about a balmy monsoon night, summer damp intensified by droplets of water pitter pattering onto the ground in a seaside city. They have explanations for why it hardly ever rains here, something found in my geography book, a tidbit of information I filed away in the crevices of my mind for future reference. It seems to have slipped out, but no matter, let me continue. Rainy nights.
Sitting by windows with a cup of tea in hand staring out at the rain, suppressing silly urges to dance under the water pouring from a black, black sky, at such an ungodly hour. A shake of the head, as if to shrug off the randomness of such an idea, although not without a smile. And then the lights come back.

As it rains in the early morning, just as the sun rises, the trees (not so easily found, not so easily flowering) shine in various shades of emerald. In winter when the weather is almost chilly (almost, because it's never entirely chilly in this coastal city. Refer again to aforementioned geography book, another tidbit, excuse me, has escaped my mind.) and a light drizzle kisses the sparkling greens, it is easily forgotten that this is a city by the sea. For perhaps a very, very short while, as the sun has just-awakened from its slumber, it looks like a tiny bit like a hill station in summer months. Or maybe it's my imagination, spiralling out of my control. I imagine it ( my imagination) to be a blue eyed little girl with jet black springy curls laughing at something that catches her attention and manages to hold it.

And when I think of rain, I think of love.
I think of you.
Always.

It didn't rain this year, I wish it had.

Dad.

There's a man here in the library who's reminding me of you. Not physically, but his presence is like yours ( and maybe because I've forgotten bits and pieces of what your presence was like, given how long it's been, but forgive me.), and if I keep my nose buried in the book I'm pretending to read, I feel like you're standing here laughing with the rest of the people in here, disregarding the Silence Please sign like it doesn't exist. Like libraries are places where you laugh and talk loudly. The booming laughter, jovial demeanour.

I haven't thought of you in a long time, and when I do remember you, it doesn't make me want to cry like it used to in the beginning. But when this man starts talking, quotes verses from a ghazal, cracks everyone around him up, I'm not reading anymore. I'm not even pretending to. What I am trying to do is keep the tears from slipping out, and suppress the choked up feeling in my throat. This reminder of your persona throws me off guard and I don't know what to do anymore. So I sit, and listen, and wait.

He's probably one of your friends from the club, and I'd like to go upto him and ask about you, but I experience the familiar hesitation most young people do when trying to approach an old person. And anyway, it's awkward. So I don't.

What I do is wait and listen and think about you. I do miss you, and it does make me want to cry, but reminders are always welcome.

So yes.

To answer your accusation, I was trying to be there for you. I was trying to avert the disaster you were running headlong into. I am aggressive. I am bossy. I act like I know it all. I talk like I know what's good for you when a lot of the time I've not even known what is good for me. I ask you to choose.

All of those, individually, or together as an onslaught. But that's just my way of giving a damn and I'm sorry you don't like it.

And when you made it so clear that you didn't like it, and did not appreciate my "interference" then I just gave it up. How can you say I'm not there for you when you pushed me away yourself? How can you?

I never, ever claimed I was one to run after people when they close up to me. I really cannot do that. It's not my ego, it's just the way I am. I'm there if you want to talk, but when you don't, I cannot come upto you and beg you to tell me what's wrong. It's just not something I do, and hence the awkward silences when I have tried to call you and sort things out. You may, also know that you're a lot harder to reach than I am when you're angry.

This is not an I-Told-You-So, but first, you fight with me over something which I am very strongly against. Then, you disregard everything I say to you, and so completely. And, as a cherry on the sundae, when things go wrong, you decide to tell me I'm not there for you.

What do you expect me to do ?
The tango?

I mean, seriously.

"If you screw up, I'm gonna tell you, whether you like it or not."
Betty Suarez, from Ugly Betty.


Take it or leave it, it's just the sort of friend/person I am, and always will be. I cannot offer apologies and explanations for things which make me the person i am.

I'd like to believe it always comes through.

So take me don't leave me
Take me don't leave me
Baby, love will come through it's just waiting for you

Because you are everything and I don't want to lose you either. Not unless you promise to return.
And not before I've held your hand.


I dream of that more than anything else.

godfuckingdamnit.

I am SICK of everything.

I'd have gone under a long time ago if you hadn't been holding me up.

I owe you one.

On suicide.

" Do you think anyone's ever killed themselves because they're too happy? I mean, what if someone decides to commit suicide because they feel that this is the happiest they will ever be, and it all goes downhill from here?" -- Love.


I like how you surprise with random things that make me think. You're welcome to come in, and you're welcome to stay. =)

Question is, what if?

But then I really wouldn't know.

(8) I might wanna marry you one day if you watch that weight and keep your firm body.(8)

haha=p

=)

" Such journeys have convinced me that it is not always possible to restore one's boundaries after they have been blurred and made permeable by a relationship: try as we might, we cannot reconstitute ourselves as the autonomous beings we previously imagined ourselves to be. Something of us is now outside, and something of the outside is now within us."-- From The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid.


=)

Slumber

Sleep.

It comes slowly, evasive and reluctant. Makes you wish you could catch it in your palm and gently release it over your eyelids, let it permeate, and mellow you out. But it escapes, and the sheer irritation drives you to the edge. You curse yourself for messed up schedules and odd sleeping hours.

What to do?

Too much to dwell upon in the silence. Too much that has been put off the whole day. It's an obligation, a chore of sorts to just think before the thoughts let you close your eyes and die for the night, because that is exactly what it is: an illusion of death. It's what makes a mother wake up after a restless nap, to place her palm in front of her child's nostrils and check the breathing.

Inhale, exhale.

It is all well.
It will all be well.
Tomorrow is another day.

It takes its time and takes you over.

I am done with you.
Just try coming to me for advice, or anything else, I'm done telling you what I think you should do. I say it because you effing ASK.

Honestly, I am DONE with you.

You can go talk to whoever the fuck you want, date whoever you want, bitch about whoever you want and stay the way you are.

I'm sorry if I have issues sharing friends with people I hate, but it's the way I am, so yeah, and your tendency to become fast friends with anyone you've known for just a little over 2 days is rather alarming. And let me tell you, I HAVE stopped being friends with people for it.
I didn't say things to you because I wanted to criticize you. It was because I cared enough to, and I don't really care about people, being the bitch that I'm supposed to be, and because you ASKED.

You can't just ask people about things, and then pick and choose which areas of your life they can interfere him.

I'm sorry i decided to open my trap when you ASKED me, maybe I should've just let you be. You're going to do whatever the fuck you want to anyway. So yeah.

As for bitching about people, you don't do any less of it yourself.

Only difference is that I'm a bitch to people's faces, whereas you tend to do it behind their backs.

What's worse?

I'm no recluse. Loneliness kills me, eating away at my soul bit by bit, until I reach the worst sort of despair I have ever felt, as bad as that which used to plague me when I was haunted by thoughts of love gone wrong.
After I recovered, I never wanted to feel that misery again. It was frightening, how a simple sensation of tingling palms could make me shed what seemed like buckets of tears. I couldn't breathe, with my face under pillows, fists stuffed into my mouth. There is nothing worse than letting it out while trying to supress it.

It went on for what seemed like eternity, the silent weeping, and howling when no one could hear me, as if I was going through some intense physical pain. And I couldn't make anyone understand, because I did not want to talk about it. I've learnt that when you give out your secrets to people, they rarely sympathise, though it seems they do. They laugh at you, and feel sorry for you, but there is no sympathy, nor empathy. We're all rather callous that way. It was suffering, by choice, but I couldn't exactly turn around and leave because love doesn't allow for that. So I gave, as much as I could. Then one day I couldn't give anymore. I stopped, and eventually the tears stopped too.

I had things to do, to keep me occupied, and I was close to what I felt was happiness.

But now, after so long at home, my sleep cycle has gone all wrong. I stay up all night, doing nothing, talking to no one. I read without concentration, surf channels, drink endless cups of tea, try to sneak a smoke or two, shower, anything really. To keep my mind off the silence. I hate it. I feel useless, and unhappy. Unhappy enough to feel my palms tingle, to want to kill myself. And the only thing I've learnt from all of this is: Love, lack or loss of it, is not the only thing that induces tingly palms.

I give it a name: Boredom, to simplify it for anyone who I might decide to talk to about it, but it's actually much more than that. I wish it would stop. I'd give anything for a night away with people who I can laugh with and talk to.
Just about anything.

I dread it when the clock strikes twelve, because the night stretches on endlessly, longer than the day.

Broken delusions.

I never, ever thought you would fall so low as to actually tell someone else my secrets. Our secrets. Because despite everything, I'd trusted you. I would've continued doing so, even if we never spoke again.
Thank you eversomuch for sending me on those guilt trips for my rambling, which didn't make people come up to you and say " So I was told this, but I won't judge you or anything, it's meaningless, because I respect you a lot." That's what you did to me.
Why did it get to that anyway, and what were you trying to do?

I know now that I, even with all my whining and openness about things, was sincere. And you who pretended to hold no secrets were actually planning something all along. It was all a bit of fun for you, and for what.

You're right, I will never find someone else like you, and it's a good thing, because I don't want to.

Just watch me love someone more than I ever loved you.

I wonder how many others you went to, and laughed at me with.

Morning Rain

You take me back
to the song I forgot
A Long Time Ago,
Because
It reminded me of life as it was and
Not as it is.

ALongTimeAgo,
Of rainy mornings in school
When we jumped in muddy puddles
Linking arms and
Screaming in mock fear of
getting our clothes dirty
Even though
The water was already in our shoes,
Even though
We had already been caught.

ALongTimeAgo
When we played silly games which
only gave us
a Scraped knee
or a Bruised elbow and
and we had to grit our teeth when they
Cleaned our wounds with funny smelling anti-septic,
Because we Could Not
Would Not
Should Not
Cry.

So much better than the wounded egos
and broken hearts replacing the
"Injuries" from our careless childish frolicking
That used to split our skins but
Not our souls and could be
forgotten with some ice cream.

Funny how they
ceased to
Tell us in their grown up voices that
Big Girls Don't Cry
when we stopped playing in mud.
Dabbling instead, in love
And they let us curl up in
Foetal positions and nurse the wounds
No anti septic could clean,
And shed the tears no ice cream would stop.

=)

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

- Dorothy Parker


Yes, might as well.

Imperfect much?

It's getting out of bed in the morning that's the most tedious bit. One more day, one more bloody day slugging through life and heat and monotony. One of many more to come, but just one at present to get through.

She walks to the mirror first thing, to remind herself of what she is, take it in so she won't forget the imperfections, physical and otherwise. They glare at her, those eyes, they're not her own anymore. It makes her wonder when she stopped looking for change she'd welcome, instead of another flaw, another thing to make her hate herself, to mutter under her breath "Yeah, join the club, why don't you. We've got quite the party going on here."

She used to wake up happy, but that was back then. Happy, and still walk to the mirror (oldhabitsdiehard) to see if she looked better than she had yesterday. Or the day before. There was always encouragement, always hope, maybe tommorrow. But all that she sees now are mistakes glaring at her, angry and blatant, and she feels like one herself : The bigger picture of a mistake.

It makes her accept why they all seem to be so ashamed of being with her. Each and every one of them. Why she must be the guilty pleasure, the dirty secret. They're all there, shameful face and all, claiming to love. But not accept. What's not to accept, she ponders, sometimes. Just sometimes. But the reflection always tells her to look closer till she can see the flaws again.

Then she shrugs, nonchalantly and tears herself away.

It's just one more day. Yeah.

Slowly they start slipping away, and you forget how to miss them. Or how you ever missed them. Learn to live without people who defined life, slowly and painfully, but surely.
You forget, and keep on forgetting till you lose them in the crevices of your memories, with nothing but songs and words as triggers. And those are the songs you don't listen to, the words you don't read. It's all in how much you avoid them. The people, the songs, the words.

Until one day, something refreshes your memory. And you expect it to hurt, except that it doesn't. Not even one bit, and that's what makes the whole situation a little sad.Here is someone you couldn't have dreamed of being without, and now you don't even know them. It could not have been much different from bumping into a stranger who might induce a little deja vu, but nothing more and nothing less.

Bittersweet, if you ask me. You do what's right for your sanity, but it takes a little bit of your faith away everytime.

Drive me to the beach, won't you?
We'll sit under the stars, by the shore as the moon illuminates the frothy waves. While we talk about notsosecret secrets, blatant realities, everything in between, really.
Bring me a 3 am like that, and I will bring you my heart, though I'm not really sure if you'd want it.

New Blog?O.o

Yes, new blog.
I hate blogger templates, this is the only one I like.

Let's see how this goes then.