Words.

Someday, I'll stop writing.
 I'll stop feeling.
I'll stop giving physical form to my emotions.
I'll let go of everything that matters.
I'll stop.
I'll turn into a fragmented girl.
I'll stop writing, but until then,
 I'll let my words describe my sadness and give beauty to my misery.
I'll let words be the most powerful thing in my life.
I'll let words ensure that there is excitement in my life, and not infinite security.
I'll let words be the thing that destroy me in the end, but the things I love the most.
I'll let my words be poetic and prettily written.
I'll let words be my drug, the thing that helps me get through each day's misery but will kill me in the end.
 I'll let words intoxicate me.
I'll let the words speak to me.
I'll let words have the supreme position in my life.
I'll let words flow just like my tears rolled down my cheeks; making the sound of water gushing into an empty glass. Pitter-patter.
I'll let words fill the void in my cracked soul.
I'll let words comfort me when I'm broken, defeated and beaten.
I'll let words numb the intensity of pain I'm forced to bear; as numb as a fossil.
I'll let words soothe my tornado-like mind.
I'll let words be the thing that save me in the end, save me from themselves.
I'll let words be the medium of love, sorrow and pain in my life.

Until I stop writing, I'll write, even though I'll never be able to write something even close to what I want to, I'll write. I'll write for the mere satisfaction it gives me. I'll write for the sorrow, for the joy. I'll write because it makes me feel alive. I'll write because words let me cling on to them. I'll write...


“I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be still” 
-Sylvia. 

There are times when nothing makes sense; when everything feels wrong.

When all you want to do is slip on an oversized tshirt, velvet sweatpants, curl into a ball and let everything slip away..

When your heart sinks lower and lower with every passing moment, and you let it

When your soul aches from all the frustrations you have been facing, and you let it. 

When you just lie in bed...longing for some peace. A ray of hope. 

Hoping against hope. Letting the tears flow. Letting your soul ache and letting your heart sink. You lie there, motionless. Cold. Fragile. Scared. Waiting. Anxious. 

You know what will happen and you're not looking forward to it. 

Steaming hot tears roll down your icy cold cheeks. You feel the cold sheets against your cooler skin and you get goosebumps all over your body, so you pull up your blanket to warm up your grieving, cold soul, but in vain.

So...you let go. 

You let go of all the tiny bit of happiness is left in you. 

You let go. 

You let go of emotions, feelings and warmth. 

You let go.

You let go of your soul, allow it to escape your mortal body.

You let go.

You let go of your hopes, aspirations.

You let go.

You let go of the power that lies in you.

You're no more than just a mortal being.

Lying in your bed...motionless, cold, fragile, scared, waiting and anxious.

You let go. 

Unfinished.

I don't know much about you, except that you're the younger one of the two brothers. Or that your dad is an actor and your mum is pursuing a Masters in an exotic course. Or that you have perfect hair and lovely collarbones. Or that you went backpacking to India for an entire year.  Or how much you love your dog, even though these are her last days. Or that the way you draw is magnificent. Or that the way you look at canvas and paints and get completely lost in them. Or that you're going to go for what you're passionate about, no matter what.

I don't know much about you, except that you're of Indian origin but have chosen United Kingdom to be your home. Or how alike you and I are. Or how your love for Grey's Anatomy is almost as much as mine. Or despite being raised abroad, you haven't forgotten your roots and still come and visit India every break. Or how you've seen more of India than I have. Or how much you love your friends. Or how much you crave your parents' love. Or maybe, you and I...we're soul sisters.

I don't know much about you, except that you walked into the tube drunk and almost tripped on the pole. Or how you got so embarrassed that you kept weeping through the entire journey. Or how I think you had a long way to go because you took the Metropolitan line. Or how the lady on the tube gave you a packet of tissues before leaving. Or how your fingers were intertwined in your husband's fingers and everyone on that train could make out how much you loved each other.

I don't know much about you, except that your parents migrated from Kenya to France a few decades ago. Or that you love Indian tea. Or that you always save green apples for me during breakfast. Or how you love your job of waiting tables at this fancy club only people with salt and pepper hair visit. Or that  come what may, you're always full of joy.

I don't know much about you, except that you moved to UK from Jamaica when you were six and have ever since lived and loved this country. Or how, instead of one, you have two homes. Or how you're so afraid of foxes but love squirrels. Or how, despite of all your flaws and imperfections, you seem perfect.

I don't know much about you, except that you're the lady at the till in Bershka from Poland who loves Primark and can go on and on about how much you love their clothes. Or how you're so vibrant and full of life with that bright red lipstick you're wearing. Or how, in the midst of the white floor and walls, your pink outfit stands out(just like you in a crowd)

I don't know much about you, except that you're homeless and sit outside the Sainsbury's in Mayfair. Or that I make sure to leave 1 pound for you every day when I go out to get some dessert/coffee. Or how you smile at me everyday. Or how...deep down I wish you had a home.

I don't know much about anyone, really. However, what I know is that everyone has a story. An unfinished, incomplete story. A story they're trying to add to every single day of their life...a story even when complete will always be...unfinished.

PS : The people I'm talking about are some of the people I came across in England while I was there for the summer. It's sort of a travel-blog-post. So, in memory of all the beautiful people I met, I decided to write this. 

I'm going to spit out my feelings today. 

We've known each other for a year and a half today. 18 months. 18 long, long months. I have such mixed emotions about how this time has passed, there are bits and pieces I want to remember and tell my kids about, but there are times that I want to erase. I'm typing this and thinking about how pathetic this post is going to be, but I'm still going to post it because I want to get it all out tonight. 

I still can't believe how close we were last summer, and now? It's all so different, so very weird. Sure, we talk on and off, but it's not the same. What haunts me is, will it ever be? It keeps bothering me and prevents me from sleeping at night, i just stare into nothingness. It's almost like I'm the epitome of inadequacy. Will I ever be good enough for you? Iv'e spent too much time away from you that I've almost forgotten what I was fighting for. I'm reminded time and again, but I still forget. I'm so unsure of whether you're still in this with me, or not. Screw it, I'm not even sure if you were in it to begin with. Without knowing where I finished, I'm unsure of where to start from. 

I've always loved you. Haven't you known? How could you have not known? Didn't you feel it? I don't know how you missed it. You never made me happy, no. Talking to you never made me happy. But not talking to you made my insides ache. I was as if I didn't only want you, I needed you. I tried to cut off all contact with you, we didn't speak for almost 3 months, but we eventually started talking again. I guess it has something to do with destiny. I couldn't trade you for the mere element of happiness, I would be glad to be in misery and with you than being happy with someone else. It might sound like a cliche, but you and I, we both know it's true. 

Despite all my efforts, I still feel I'll never be good enough for you. The inadequacy is eating into my soul, bite by bite. Because, you're perfect. In every bloody sense of the word. So maybe, I'll never be fixed. Maybe I'll always need and love you. Maybe I'll always live in silence for the fear of saying something wrong. Maybe, the only lover I'll have will be the faint sounds of yesterday. Maybe, breathing will always be like punching a bag full of shards of glass. Maybe, I'm not made to be a lover, just a writer. Maybe, I'll always hope for you to return and ache whilst you do. Maybe, the only the ting I'll be sure of is that I can't live without you. Maybe, my eyes will always bleed the taste of your lips. Maybe, I'll always have shattered windshields for eyes...

Joys.

Let me think aloud today, let me speak the words I have always been afraid to say. Let me ponder over how beautiful we are together and so incomplete apart. Give me a chance to look back on all that we have been through, allow my lips to gently curl. Let a shiny layer of moisture trickle down my cheeks today. Please, just let me be free.

Let me feel every emotion, and experience every kind of pain you left me with. How you were everything I've ever wanted, and how you were exactly my type. You were perfect, in every bloody sense of the word. You liked theatre, poetry, art, books and my type of music. You were all the things I dreamt of having in my lover, you checked all the boxes. You were like the poetry I was afraid to share with the world, or the song I never wanted anyone to hear. You were mine to keep, and mine to cherish. Forever, forever and forever.

Your black fully rimmed specs fit perfectly on your face and your slightly curly hair was so soft, and I knew you loved it when I caressed it. Your eyes were big and brown with lashes probably longer than mine. It felt like they had universes trapped inside them. Your nose was so perfectly proportionate, it almost made me smile whenever I looked at your face. I loved how my fingers danced on your long slender neck when you kissed me with the softest lips I've ever kissed. How you kissed me so gently, yet so passionately, and then looked at me like I was the most beautiful being you'd ever seen. Then, you brushed away my hair from my eyes only to kiss me again. I felt a lot of emotions at that very moment, the most overpowering one being love. I felt love. Immense, immense love. And I never could recognise what else I felt.

Everything was overwhelming. In a good way, or not, I do not know, but it felt nice. It also felt strange, but nice, mostly. It felt serene, it felt pure. It was something I always wanted to remember, but somehow, it faded away. Slowly, slowly, you faded away.

So, today, let me remember how perfect we were and then help me forget.
Only to remember again. 

Dancing shadows.

 I don't remember how I got here. What led me here, or who, more appropriately. I'm back where I started, it feels like I'm running in circles, trying to escape everything, but failing miserably. The memories are coming back. Those memories dipped in gold, and of course, the ones dipped in black paint. I'm trying to pick up the bits and pieces I never want to forget, the tiny fragments of happiness, but the only ones I'm managing to pick up are those tiny pieces of misery. Everything feels like a faded polaroid. I don't want to live in my memories, but I can't help how I feel. Sometimes, everything comes back to me, but some days, I feel so confused, dazed, as if there isn't a purpose I'm fulfilling. It's like, you were home to me. but I don't recognise this street anymore. I'm constantly running away from my words, and running into yours. I'm trying to find you in the sunlight, despite knowing you'll always dwell in the shadows. I'm tying to comfort myself by saying we're under the same stars tonight, but it doesn't even mean anything anymore. I'm trying to write beautiful verses, lovely stories, but they just end up being unfinished poems and scribbled articles. I'm trying to be kissed by the sun, but I can never cheat on the night. I'm trying to tell myself you wouldn't have been lovely to come home to, but we all know that's not true. I'm trying to hate what I've always loved. I'm trying to find a new definition for marbles, because 'trapped universes' reminds me of you. I'm trying to take back my soul from you, but you've locked it away somewhere so safe. I'm trying to paint a portrait, a portrait of all that overwhelms me so greatly, I'm shouting colours. I'm spitting paint. I'm trying, I'm failing. I'm trying, but my mind is a collection of hastily made euphoric decisions and constant give ups. I'm trying, but I'm too afraid I'll fail. I'm trying, but it feels like I'm using bits and pieces of others' personalities to form my own. I'm craving success, but I'm facing failure. I'm facing pain.

There is, however, this thing about pain, it demands to be felt. Without it, you don't feel alive. Or maybe, pain is just a hard way of knowing you're alive. Pain reminds you that even though you tried so hard, you failed at replacing your heart with an icebox. 

Happiness and little joys.

That girl. That girl who was so afraid of relationships, commitment, allowing someone to love her unconditionally. She, who feared being in love only because of the power it gave the other person over her. To make her, love her; break her. She, who thought she was happy in her own little bubble. She, who thought tennis and fashion were the only things that mattered. That little girl who never sought comfort in anybody but her own self. She, who counted her blessings. She, who thought the power of silence was much greater than the power of speech. She, who was content, if not anything else. She, who stopped expecting anything from people only because she knew it would lead to disappointment. She, who was beautifully fragile. She, who would crack even with the slightest pressure. She, who was cold and lost. She, who found solace in books, long walks and silence. She, who wasn't affected by parties and all that jazz. She, who thought naps and long hot showers could solve all problems in the world. She, who wanted to go to a fancy University.

She changed. For the better, or worse, she didn't know. What she did know, however, was that she felt different. She looked different, her scent, her hair, her clothes, everything was different. All the times that she thought she would never forget now seemed like another person's memory. She let herself be loved, and cared for. She let herself go. Instead of books and walk, she found peace in his words, his scent. She was changing into a different person, she didn't know if she liked it or not, but she was at peace.

She was happy.