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.