=)

" 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.