Never-again.

Red light, swallow me completely
Break me down, put me together
Douse me in never-shed tears
Teach me how to live again.

Take me away, inhibition: my master
Let me go, let me dive
Into never-shared emotions
Teach me how to live again.

Crack a code, work your body
Tax your mind, stay away
Bow down to never-loved nights
Teach me how to live again.

I am haunted by ideas, outlet
Please arrive: I need a vent
A body never-felt before
Teach me how to live again.

Listen to the quiet, hush. Just
Dance my devils away tonight
Hold this never-dead spirit close
Teach me how to live again.

Pretty face, fragrant hair. Shut
The tragedy down: it's been around
Long enough on never-thought ideas
Teach me how to live again.

Beauty: never-whole.

Black: You and I.

Let me come dressed in black,
For in your love I mourn,
The death of most of who I am.

Let me come dressed in black,
You were the worst thing ever mine,
Now, regret and hate can't take me back.

Let me come dressed in black,
Are you afraid of the colour of the night?
The time you let yourself fuck it up.

Let me come dressed in black,
Everything in wholeness is but one colour,
This is what you mean: dull completion.

Let me come dressed in black,
To help you realize your heart's desire,
All of it is single shades of black and white.

Let me come dressed in black,
Me: Now monochromatic, You: The reason,
Why don't we just step into the night undressed?

(The first word of the second line in each stanza makes up: 'For You Are Everything To Me.')

You, we, I, we, You.

You were so very close

That you were invisible

Now there is void here

An empty space in between

You and I: never together.

We were never one
We came here separately
We now leave alone
As our entwined fingers part
Finding one more perfect hand.

I find our pictures
Tucked somewhere between the book
You left behind open
To a page read too many times
So I flip over to see:

We were laughing like
Worries would never find way
To destroy these smiles
Despite our separation
Despite us being undone.

You seem to have found
One more picture perfect time
With another girl
I knew we would never be
Us: an unsolved mystery.

This post is plagiarized, no?

Smudged histories blend into one another as we sat lovelorn
In an untidy room filled with bright colours, yet colourless souls.

The guitar strumming in the background grew louder
Every passing minute as our eyes stayed fixated, a constant.

The chords sung an unheard melody, the heart skipped a beat
Like the relevance was undeniable. Everyone had same stories
They just told them differently: distorted people, shaded memories..
The world spun faster when we learnt we are fragments of reimaginings
Unoriginal as they can be. There was no truth to us, yet so much significance.

The classroom in the next day's sunshine seemed to move slowly
Each word weighed against another: what's loaded and what's not.
What's right and what's not. Who's here and who'll never be.
If you even existed or you were lie. The farce of life, the truth of us:
We are all plagiarists and no software can ever prove otherwise.

Our stories are never our own, we owe more than we own:
Nothing is ours, never believe it is. It is a lie, so is every story ever told.

Tale.

Cozy morning light
Funneling its way through dreams
Closing in on us

Feeling warmth of days
Stemming out of unmade beds
We lie now as one

You- falling apart
And me in the worst time frame
Frozen still in sheets

Unrestricted white
Falling into hues of peach
You and I lay bare

Concluding fallout
I walk away from you, naked
The end of our myth

"Typewriters are like philosophies"

typewriters are personifications of anger
she can never silently flutter over the letters
typewriters are reminders of my family
each syllable punched in with frustration

typewriters are memoirs of a time lost
you can't space back in distance nor time
typewriters are articulations of slips
we type what the unconscious wants us to
typewriters are errors of humans
most of who we know we are
typewriters are stories we tell ourselves
one to my sister and another to a boyfriend
typewriters are like you and i
stubborn, tough to handle, old and lost
typewriters, she said, are like philosophies
they fuck your head up. you don't understand.

She is a poem.

Moon lined dreams merge in sad innocence,

For all she knew was poetry in its entirety.

"Fragments", Freud suggests. But poetry

Doesn't work that way. Skip a line,

Skip the flow. Skip a word, skip the poem.

Explaining to a band of hot-headed barbarians,

What poetry means and how an empty set

Signifies void and incompleteness, isn't

Easy. Given that these idiots weren't 

Accepting, whatsoever. Our apple-pathways

Collided at the right time, together we 

Transformed whatever the moon lit dreams

Spoke of, in colours unimaginably bright.

She was poetry: played a tune with her fingers-

The rhythm was imagination, the style was 

As free as spirits be. She was poetry: beautiful,

Hardly understood, structured, whole. She

Was the verse that flowed into another like

The river meandering and finding its way

Through the crevices on permanent rocks.

She inspired poetry alongside being one

Herself. Love, giggles, home-all the same.

She taught and learnt like a poem handed

Down the years, forever-changing in its

Meaning but intact in its words. And I

Look at her like a poem I can never create

But yet love dearly and wholesomely

Because poetry lives in entirety,

Much like friendship.

Strange. Dark. Quaint.

Strange enough that when our sun-drowned paths met,
I was too in love with the extraordinary.
You defined all that I couldn't be,
The 'other' I strongly recommended
Over pizza conversations.
So much that my 'self' could
Never separate itself,
From the boldest hue of
An idea that was you.
You lived in an age older than ours,
You belong there, I promise.
And when we lay in the green lush,
Too dark now because the night was setting in,
You held your guitar in your hand,
Strumming The Beatles, how cliche!
How two souls found solace,
In burnt memories and rusting pasts..
You are quaint, my subject.
You are definitive of one-of-a-kinds.
I guess I was falling in love
With the antagonist.
You can't blame me,
I always have.
The villains are always better.
The darker, the cozier.
The darker, the realer.
The darker, the quainter.
Strange that you were extraordinary,
Strange how I never completed my research.
Strange how you and I are similar, yet different.
Strange that quaintness echoed a tune too familiar.

Scarred Feet

I have a story. Come
Close, I shall let you hear.
They're inscribed on my feet
History and past.

Count the number of scars,
Each one has a tale
And under the streetlight
Let us sit to hear them
Straight away. Like you
Were the creator unknown
To your sin. You were
The silence we left at the brim.

Come try to comfort them-
Scars of an age, that
You know not of like I do.
Come weep tears of sympathy
Now, because tomorrow they'll
Tell a different tale.

Treasure this sight under
The streetlight bright, and
Tell me how justice for
Love is served. Tell me
That you will unravel
The secrets, even those I
Know not myself.

Whisper words of wisdom
Speak of how a time will come;
When the scars disappear but
The feet remain-unmarked in
Deep histories. Come close,
I shall let you hear
The darkest times tell a tale-
Of surprise and distress
All the same. Come close,
O stranger, let you hear
My scarred feet tell a tale.

Come close, O loved one,
Hear me out. My scarred feet
Aren't still out of tales.

Falling right back..

As life runs in circles of aspirations and disappointments, I stand still comprehending the chaos. Not all new places seem welcoming now, and I breathe in all the familiarity I find around me so that I don't forget how you feel like. I look silently across the buzzing room to see people hug and find solace and I stand there knotted emotionally. I haven't looked more messed up, more lost. I thought we were over, done, gone. I thought I left you behind like I left home behind. I thought you came with home. I thought you and I were a fleeting emotion and yet you suffocate me through distance and nothing in the world can make me feel okay right now. I want to hold you and bury myself in your chest and cry. Weep so much that I run out of tears for the rest of my existence. I want to tell you that I hate you for never being there, for feeling for another girl, for giving me thoughts of her with you having all that I have. I want to hate you. Hate you. But yet, I fall right back to you.

Have always.

I have always hidden myself like muffled thoughts over tea, a warm breeze on cold night, calling myself a pun, an allegory.
I have always run away like rustling leaves on autumn evening, a memory undone last season, much like an unknown love, a maybe.
I have always tripped over little secrets which, like those lyrics that stay jammed between choruses.
I have always over felt like a touch-me-not. I guess that is why they curl in, they represent the theory of introverts.
I have always sent you away in a wish, but you come back as an apology. Blank, sorry, and regretful.
But I have never ceased to love. I can feel nothing, do nothing, stay away, cry, crib, run away, hide myself, trip over, fall on my face, send you away; but never stop loving.
I have always wanted to learn how not loving felt like, why can't I?

Raw, naive, young.

I wish someone could click a picture of how we looked with certainty from the terrace into the warmth of yellow lights on the street tonight

I pray that this circle of comfort and happiness never breaks off into nothingness once we share a new bond

I hope that the cuddles stay, the giggles lurk, the whispers echo, the shadows dance ever so beautifully that we never forget to live in that moment

I want to sit tucked in and ask myself why is life defined by moments like these, where silence is loud and words are unique

I wish someone could capture the essence of the night in words, in eyes, in memories and tuck them into our pillow covers, so we can sleep soundly

I wish, I wish, I wish life was just poetry.

Static Frenzy.

In the crowd of drunk ramblers, mumbling a language too familiar, I stand still amongst them and look for a face.
I walk out in silent tension that seeps into me, I can hear my heart beat an extra beat by the second, I can feel my fingers get cold in nervousness-I had to see this face now.
And then I see more of the figure than the face, I see more of the colour than the smile, I walk across the distance I'd called love, I chart out the meaning of this meeting in my head.
The night caressed comfort like its baby, safely placing it in the arms of those who needed it the most. I watched it fall in his arms, his arms were now too full to have me. So I dodge a hug.
I feel his hand on my shoulder. Three pats-"I've missed you.", it said. I could hear it, it was loud enough. His head was never silent, even though he usually was. He never mouthed words like that, it seemed to be against him.
I turn to look gleefully at him, like I just received acceptance for my existence. He spoke. Words that I often forget are the words spoken. I believe in writing, in storing in memory for posterity, in feeling those words on paper, and letting them stay there forever. I'd rather remember how he moved his hand to show me the direction, than count the number of words he'd said.
So I follow and we make small talk. Conversations follow a principle- 'if you don't have too much to give, you can't expect too much in return.', much like love, I guess. The night is quiet, the streets are empty-just us trying to lull our awkwardness to sleep.
He breaks my chain of thought, he takes me to a cafe. I look around like a wary eighteen year old and he sits at a table like he knows this place since forever. He asks me to quit making faces at the place and he orders chai for us. The purpose of chai at occasions is not to make a conversation, but to escape one. You can slowly sip on your tea to bury yourself in thoughts about him, when he's sitting right there in front of you expecting you to act out on something disagreeable. To his surprise, not all extroverts always talk. Not all drama is saved for one night.
When he thinks, I want him to be still, I want to sketch that intense look he has on his face when he is expecting something but gets nothing. I like how he keenly looks at me-hopefully, I'd call it. I wonder if this is how life would be if it were with him-too silent,too intense,too loved,too unsure. I speak of some of the most random things, like how I hated coffee and how much fun college was. But in the space between us as we sit just few meters apart, the words fall on the table with a thud and I almost immediately forget what I say. He still held comfort in his arms, so I was fine but he never found solace in the silent meeting, so he wasn't so fine. The conversations could be reduced to nothing, it wasn't a story to narrate, it wasn't a song to sing, it wasn't a poem to create, it was meaningless art-appreciated for its wholeness as it filled the canvas but misunderstood as its echoing colours spoke louder. But the talk still filled the space between distance and time-spaces hell-bound.
When I run out of things to say, I sip on my cup of tea. Some wise person once tumblr'd, "Where there's tea, there's hope." I couldn't agree less that night. Our lives never ran on parallels, we just held on to something we determined as just ours. We tried to make sense to the other-one too abstract, one too logical. We would get a zero on every compatibility test, I still didn't know why I sat there calling it love. But I smiled because I like what we share, the comfortable nothingness was pure, I enjoyed the comfort. And for once, at a cafe, I felt safe. It was because of him in the red stripped tee, sipping on his cup of chai, working on this maybe.
And as we parted after our walk back into known civilization, I half hoped to surprise him with a hug, like I did once before. But I knew I'd see him again-not in red, not at a cafe, not on a silent night, but just him. My heart started to race when he said goodbye-parting is not always easy, until you finally part, and realize it just means a beginning to a new end. I felt chai-stained, the world spun to a new story, the attention we got from the universe reduced, comfort was given back to the night-I felt in love. And as he drove past me, I looked down, shuffling my feet and whispered in an almost inaudible voice, "yours truly".

You said "love", I said "what?"

Your presence flows in through windows
Like a cold breeze carrying frozen thoughts.
Your memories lingers in the aroma
Of hot tea and calmness through heated discussion.
Your idea manifests itself in the palpable moonlight
Despite never having spent one night with you.
Your life intersects mine-order and chaos
Chaos and order-all the same.
In our differences, we find solace
In our silence, we find differences
In our love, we find silence
But just for solace, we find love.

Indifference

Reads and rereads does she

Mapping indifference and coldness

Love him like a favourite song?

She read too much in between the lines

She never failed her love

She just failed herself

Given up, beaten down, lost

She was but melancholy

She could never weigh-

the odds against hope

She hoped for the hopeless

And loved like the loveless

She sent him away in a memory

She caressed another like a fool

A ship-wreck, lacking self-respect

She couldn't define herself otherwise

Had she not learnt yet?

Love cannot happen twice

She has to put up with it

Make peace with her reality-

He was another's now,

Shared affection, divided attention

But she could not stop thinking-

"And she will hold the one I did,

Find him holding her perfectly too.

And she will kiss the lips I did,

Search for what I've left undone behind.

And she will say the same name I did,

Tweaking pronunciations that make him chuckle.

And she will love the man I did,

Not knowing how hopelessly in love I am still."

She counts her maybes

And wishes against her guilt

She cries her heart out

And bleeds on a paper still

Why did the heart break?

Why the indifference?

Where has the love gone?

Had it ever existed?

A Response

The music sung the ridiculous conditions of our hearts in synchrony

However different we felt from each other,
The unity of our paralyzed lives,
Spoke in a language too familiar

Drunk on moments of happiness,
We drove our sorrows away..

If there is a thing about bus rides-
It is music and its profound meanings
Unknown so long and so far

I don't know if it is easy to fit in,
But I do know what it means
To count on someone
To have someone who understands

"We are all chapters of different stories"
But all these stories are chapters of a larger story
The of each of our lives-
The wonder that keeps strangers weirdly comfortable-
The beauty of unison of hearts-
Not because they love too much
But because they love carelessly and ceaselessly,
Leaving them with no option but to accept depression..

This is my chapter-a chapter which doesn't necessarily have to end
A chapter-I'll love, loathe and remember
A chapter that lives beyond me
Beyond me-in the shape of this poem

So let's put together our difference
And together, let us be uniquely different
Let's live-let's write-let's dance-
Let's drive these sorrows away....

Chai-stained

It goes down in history, this night, I say.
It goes down in the memories I shall always hold on to.
It sinks in deep-these words you say

Skin-deep-this elation,this emotion

Do we belong together?
Or is this longing quenched?
Is it a-
Beginning to an end?
Or an end to our beginning?

Walk past you-I can't
See you fade-I won't.
I need your chai-stained heart to feel.
I need it to beat an extra beat-
Every time you hold my heart in your palms
I need you to feel the flip in your stomach-
The start of journey-the end of familiarity

You are no depression-but the reason to hold on
You and I-the chaos we are-
Is nothing but the innocent gap
The gap we need to feel this way.
The gap we need to apologize.
The gap we need to come closer.
The gap we need to live at all.
"Distances only make relationships stronger."
I was told, but now I believe

Forever-I love thee not.
Half a forever-I spent in the moment
The moment we knew was just ours
The time we knew no one could take away
Yes, raw and naive is this life
Like an unfinished poem
An unspoken word
But chai-stained I am for eternity
Burnt and sticky, burnt and sticky.

Surreal Realities

"Arnold Palmer", she said boldly. "Arnold Palmer", I repeated in my head, learning to mouth those words I've never said before, learning confidence from a girl who said she had none. She was an inspiration of a different kind-the one that sang your sorrows away, the one that listening and cheered in your joy, the one that can never say a goodbye.
I remember having met her to say goodbye to her, to let us weep in the sorrow of separation-but as I left her side today, I didn't feel the pain of growing apart. The gold I've found in her wisdom and words, the joy I find in her logic and emotions-they never belonged to a physical reality. They always belonged to a virtual world-a world where Saturdays were life-the third dimension of our relationship. I never felt a tinge of sorrow-for we weren't losing each other, we were in fact, growing together in separate paths-when were we even on the same path?
In comfortable silence, we chewed our food-the delicacies perfecting the mood. It was just her presence that I needed, just the way her deep black eyes sparkled. I call myself the eyes which speak, but it wouldn't know how to speak if not for her-it lit up a smile. She called it "the sunshine in our smiles." She was synonymous to hope, to being the brother I never had, to the family I wanted to choose. We were weird that we found solace in each others' presence, but what better than knowing when you say nothing and feeling so much more than you can actually put into words?
We were distorted-imperfect figures-an embodiment of shame for some. But in all these flaws, we loved ourselves. How else would we know the importance of being who we are and not anyone else? Proud teenagers, I say we are. Proud of all the hope and strength we still see in life.
Our lives has traveled on distant parallels, parallels we chose not be ashamed of. If life was about choices-this was the best choice we made. The choice of never-regretting, the choice of taking pride in our choices. And if life was about finding the right person-I think I've found my right person. And no, she isn't from the opposite sex and no, we aren't getting married. The best part of this relationship is that we find, we grow, we love and we fall right back into each other at the end of the day-because we've found our soul-twins, and we can grow apart comfortably-because we know the other is always there.
Always has never meant anything so real ever before.
Always, star-crossed soul-twin. Always.

The Girl Who Wrote

Naive, young and bold-you were just like this when I first spoke to you. Nothing in the world could describe you better than the way you write. All our imperfections and our faults, all our miseries and lovelessness, all the drunk moments when we were high on happiness, all those times we counted down to college together-to you, the girl who wrote. To you, this poem-

It took an instant to love you
An instant to believe, trust
An instant to look beyond
And give happiness a chance
An instant to know you
An instant to find us
An instant to this happenstance
An instant was it all

And I promise that this wonder
The wonder of not knowing
The joy of naivety
The poetry on life
Will die with us-
When we are dead and gone
And over it all
Said and done

I promise to stay
I promise to love
Not because I can,
Because I want to.
So to you, the girl who wrote
To you, my inspiration
I send waves of love
To wherever you are
And whenever you feel like
Receive them with open arms
For I am there whenever you need
I promise-because together our pens bleed.

A love that was not

For I know this will never reach your ears
I know the poet I can never be
I know the harsh tune of melancholy
Slowly swallowing me

And I know the words you said to me
I know the serenity of your eyes
I know how these starless nights
Dimly dance sorrows away

I saw you at a distance called love
I drifted through your life of lies
I gauged your imperfections
And weighed your flaws tonight

I let the wind brush your hair
I caught the light to shine your pride
I held the strings of time and space
And hoped that you'd look behind

For there I was knowing your poem
The one you always read out to me
Never knowing I listened-
'Thoughts, actions, perseverance'

But deep inside I know the poem
The one you never wrote that night
The one you might never feel again
'Cause emotions can't be felt twice

Love can't be repeated-
Not this way, not this time
So I write to you, my dear muse
On the love we never shared that night

The love that always tore us apart
The love that questions all of me
The love that kept our lives apart
The love that we could be

For I know this will never reach your ears
I know the poet I can never be
I know the harsh tune of melancholy
Slowly swallowing me

And I know the words you said to me
I know the serenity of your eyes
I know how these starless nights
Dimly dance sorrows away

For there is perfection
In the mere presence of your light

Hold on to This Moment

I often wondered why people live in just certain moments and feel dead in the very next. I wonder how we are capable of loving in a minute and detesting in the next. I wonder how minutes,how time,how the striking noise of the ticking clock mount up to these memories that are irreplaceable.
Don't we all have those nights when we struggle to do something and fail miserably at it, just because all we want to do and need to do is stare at the wall? Just think of those memories and let it come rushing back to us, realising that they were never too perfect, but at least, they were happy. Like your friend getting your name wrong on your birthday cake, like spell-errors or auto-correct mistakes in your chat boxes, like buying the best gift and finally gifting it in pieces because you took too much care but failed to notice when your hand was causing all the trouble, like driving around the city at 2 AM knowing that if you're caught,you're dead. These moments-these random,imperfect,dusty memories-are all that we live for,some times.

But time runs faster than you can think. When you're enjoying this moment right now, ten years down the line-nothing will remain the same between your friends and you and all you have is the memory. The memory that is bottled up in music,in smells,in notes,in smiles,in photographs,in gifts,in places. The people you've had your most adored moments with might not be someone you love too much. Honestly, you might hate them. But times with them are inevitably memorable and are etched in your hearts for eternity. Does that then count as love? Because honestly, they made the moment unforgettable and if wasn't for them, life wouldn't be what it is right now. And really, the best love is insane.
Time is the devil, we all ignore when we're living the moment-fully and completely. And once she's gone, you realise that time leaves behind too many scars that you left unnoticed just because you were so happy-too glad to feel anything but the wholeness of the moment, its infinity and its superiority.
And once you know that the person you were in that moment, isn't the person you are today, it won't kill you, it won't sadden you, it won't break you-it'll make you glad. Glad that you grew-for the better or for the worse-that you're no more that person. And so the memory will be stark because when you're not the same person as you were in the moment, you'll just hold on to the memory and build a world with all the tiny bits and never feel the same way you felt in that moment-making the memory all the more important because you'd love to remember how you felt-how happiness felt,how being loved felt.
That's the magic of little moments, they're complete,imperfect,beautiful,happy, and an infinity of their own and when we realise that life is just about these moments, we're living in every moment we think of these memories. We're whole just because these are definitions of us-nothing will ever complete you like your memories do-because they're pieces of you that you've left behind and will never find anywhere else except in that air-tight space where you've bottled up these memories for an eternity.

Belonging

"I curse God for whatever happens to me."

"I curse destiny."

(Long Pause-Dad screams in the other room)

"I curse family the most."

For a long time now, I've blamed my family for everything that has happened to me, and probably, everything that will happen to me in the future. Families are the toughest to understand, but the easiest to love. You give them so much, and expect equally so in return. And when unfortunately, they don't have enough to give, you're disappointed. I honestly wish it was easier to understand what "runs in your blood" is. Is it a trait you own only because of your parents? If it wasn't for them, would you have had been this good at all? Reality strikes you hard, or rather, strikes you out, when you realise you are who you are, because of who they are. 

But what hurts more is the fact that they know exactly where it hurts the most, they know how to heal it, they probably know everything, because you're just a reflection of a combination. My parents never signed up for what goes on at home right now-the loud voices, the screams, the face-making, the unbreakable silences, the final verdicts, the unity in our brokenness and the trait of constant anger.

It has been tough putting up with a family that expresses too much in action,rather than words. It has been tough to understand that screaming is just going to hurt you,and will bring no results. It has been tough to keep track of tears that meant too little. It has been tough to live,anyway.

I've grown up to find comfort in silences,and not react to what is. I've left anger to the rest of them, but somehow, it haunts me still. The fact that I'm conditioned to react to any loud voice at all is frightening. But there's another thing about family that none of us happen to notice. The other side of the mess-there's peace, there's safety, there's warmth, there's wholeness.

Yes, family can never mean friendship because friendship is a choice and family isn't. You're locked out of their lives,more than half the time. But maybe if you knock enough, on the door, someone out there will let you in. They'll let you know how it feels like to be who they are and mean what they mean to you. And despite you not wanting it, there will be someone who watches you fall asleep every night and make sure nothing disturbs you, not even the first ray of sunlight in the morning. The thing about family not being able to be your friend, is that friendships are choices, choices you can regret, but family? You can't regret being where you are, you can only blame, only curse. You can't regret because it wasn't your choice and maybe that's what makes it even more wonderful, the fact that deep within-the root of roots and the bud of buds, you belong somewhere, you know someone is already home, always waiting, always there.

Maybe the place we are frantically looking for, the place we need to know about in order to find ourselves-Maybe that place is home where family is, where reason isn't defining, nor is emotion too little. Maybe we're all meant to be where we are, forever.

And yes, "I am who I am because of who we all are." And I guess I'm proud of it.

Life's an Amoeba

Oh you glorious, glorious piece of life,
Messed up, shapeless
Forever flowing, locomotive.
You show me who I don't want to be
You tell me the story of my life:
Betrayed and shapeless
Bemused and real
You make me afraid of a past..
How curving and moving away from it,
Would help me get rid of it..

Oh you lovely, lovely piece of life,
You speak of love
Of emotion, beauty, comradeship
So loud, yet unclear
So stark, but indefinite
You speak of love
A love that knows no ends nor means
A love that's just a surviving treat..

Oh you beautiful, beautiful piece of life,
You make me look at you
Like I often look at my mind..
Chaotic and indecisive
Beautiful and kind
And when
Strings of depression and memories,
Of pain and gain,
And of lust and joy
Intermingle-
You confuse me, comfort me
Defy and deny..

Oh you crazy, crazy piece of life,
Above my life and above my mind,
Beyond love, lust and joy,
You look at me, like I'm staring right at the mirror
You are me, a paradoxical definition
Boundless, limitless and forever thirsty
In search of shape that can fit my imperfections completely:
All my curves and edges
You show me who I am-
An insignificant part of a prominent whole,
One of too many of a kind.
Oh you, you expose me-
My insecurities, my blemishes, my faults
My mistakes, my life
And you look me in the eye
Silently screaming, "You are ME."

Bounce off Silences

Trapped,locked out of heaven-
Green,blue,red,happy heaven and its faults
Its faults, miseries and undying will
Faith torn apart,life kicked out of me
Or so I thought

Silence dropped in through a leaking roof-

A roof called love-a layer now with too many holes

A roof called responses-silence was the loudest

A roof called family-or should I just say fake promises

A roof called secrets-of lies,darkness and sorrow, death?

Happiness is but a choice-

A choice of an ending or a new beginning

A choice of a relapse or a step forward

A choice of a memory-stark,bloodred

Or a broken,shattered past

So seal the roof-and grow wings to fly away

I was made to run,to float like a bubble-

A bubble of momentary zest,permanent happiness

To swim across my deepest fear

To glide above my darkest secret

Neither am I a cold-hearted lost voice

Nor your lust,passion,desire or a missing piece

I am not a silence,but a noise

A roar-the voice that won't shut down

A storm that won't settle

And for what it's worth-

I live to soar high,to go places

I don't belong to the cracked shed

Anymore

The IDEA of love

In a moment of pain and unbroken silence, I turned towards you. Through text messages and virtual meetings, I thought you'd complete me. Perfection had never meant something so stark and real ever before. My physical incapacity, my emotional scars, my weaknesses- they vanished, or rather were forced to get away because every time I thought of a 'Maybe' that existed, it lit up my world. The slightest idea of the comfort of your shoulder when I succumb to my weaknesses seemed like the end of chaos and the beginning of beauty, the end of weaknesses and the beginning of a future. 

But eventually, when I knew my weaknesses were hard-wired into my brains, when I realised that the true enemy can never be fought until you fight it yourself, I knew romance was not my answer to it. Love was never the answer, it has always been a question.

What if?
Or just uncertainty hanging down the like a creeper from the roof.

Maybe.

This is what kept me going for a long time. I had layered my emotional scars with moments of happiness sent through an electronic signal, from someone, perhaps, non-existent in my real world. And eventually I was addicted to the idea of the person, rather than the person himself. I never noticed how he moved his fingers when he waved at someone, neither did I notice how his lips broke into a painful smile when he said goodbye. I never noticed if his answers were the same as mine or not. I just always wanted him to be there for me, regardless of whether I was there for him or not. And I guess he never asked for too much. But the thing about crushes we develop over the internet or a text message or a phone call, is that, they are never here to stay. They give you an idea of what you want, but never will they ever let that imagination of yours take shape into reality.
And all of us know the beauty of observing water take shape of the glass container, which it is poured in. It's completeness, it's transparency, it's existence, it's presence.

I have never needed people, until recently. I have them, but I still don't find the right words to express how I feel. Of how one man changed my idea of men, of how one incident pressed into my heart forever long, will change my idea of happiness. I could never find the words, or rather, I don't want to.

These people I've let look inside of me, the ones I trusted, the ones I've given keys to happiness, were just ideas of people. They weren't actually there. Most of the people I've loved have also been ideas of a great person. But the only people I love right now are those I really know, are those I really feel, are those who are equally inadequate, who are scarred, who are deeply hurt, who have pasts that haunt them, who are as human as me and who need me as much as I need them.

All of us spend too much time contemplating our What Ifs and counting our Maybes, that when someone walks across us with eyes as dreamy as ours, they'd escape our attention, because never would we know, how to trust another person, how to judge truth in people's eyes, and how to tell phony from real.

But really, it is high time we learn. Time we know whom to lend our hearts out to. Time we know who can keep us safe and who cannot. Time we know that this IDEA of love is not really love, it's just an illusion. An illusion that keeps us going, some times. But it is not what we are looking forward to. It's not IT. It's a maybe, a possibility. But we need to run wild, throw our phones away for a while, just bump into a stranger and maybe for the first time, feel the magic in a kiss we have always longed for.

Let me run, don't hold me back

On my infatuation with sleep

"Sleep fights depression.", she typed.
"Sleep fights reality.", I replied.

IBDP (International Baccalaureate Diploma Program) has made me fall asleep on text books and during the most interesting classes, because I've had a lack of sleep for the last 2 years, almost everyday. Procrastinating can be blamed, but I still blame the IB and their tedious schedule.



For 3 days now, I've slept for about 13 hours everyday. It's strange that I choose to wile away precious time by sleeping instead of doing something more productive. Every morning, there is this fight which I have with myself. I compel myself to paint, to dance, to sketch, to write, to read, to at least watch TV, but through these tasks which are supposed to make me feel active, I just get affiliated to sleep a little more. It's interesting what sleep does to me. It's cozy and warm, and you feel like you're floating eventually. I've had nothing to do in the recent past, so I sleep. Is that the reason, really? No, I sleep because it is too hard to face myself all the time. These thoughts, these emotions, this want, this greed, these expectations, THIS REALITY. To fight this, I sleep. It's escapism, but such escapism is encouraged by me because I don't even want to face myself anymore. It's not tough or anything, it simply is not worth it. Now you might think, if it isn't worth it, then why think of it? Let me tell you a little something about reality that can't be forgotten whatsoever.

I broke hearts, because I didn't feel good. I changed, because I wanted to. I kept people at bay, because I enjoyed pizza better. I ignored, because I didn't want to accept. I just left, because I didn't want to stay. 

Does that sound like a terrible person? You're all that person. At least one of those people. I am, too. If this sounds bad, speak of the past.

Got molested before getting my first period, got beaten up because he was more powerful, got badly parented, got bullied at school, never got enough of love, never could hold on to what was rightfully yours, never belonged, never loved

That sounds like a broken person. So much of the past hidden under layers of virtual happiness. One day, the day of epiphany, you'll tear up all those layers of unscathed history and succumb to your weakness and cry. Cry for as long as you can, because right now, nothing can ever change it.
"It's in the past, I don't care!", he told me. "It's my past, I care.", I grimly replied.
It's easy for people to say "Let go of the past, only then can you embrace the future." That's hilarious, human. Because I don't know how to let go of the past, neither am I going to learn. It makes me who I am.
 A person alternating between being 9, 13 and 17 years of age.

"Idle mind is a devil's workshop!", my mother screamed at me when I was 10. I was sitting in the garden and staring at the stars on a beautiful night. She didn't know what I was thinking about then, she doesn't know now, she will never know ever. So, instead of sitting under the stars, doing nothing, but thinking, I chose to sleep. Because right now, I can't think of what I usually think of. I have nothing important to do, nothing that will change my life. So, I sleep.

And then there are dreams. Yes, and nightmares too. You all know neither will come true, but dreams excite and nightmares freak me out. But it doesn't mean that the fear of dreams never coming true, or nightmares coming true, will stop me from sleeping because like someone I know rightly said, "Sleep, for me, is sacrosanct."

For each of us, sleep means differently. To her it meant, fighting depression. To me it means to fight reality. To you, it might just be a necessity. But whatever it is, it helps. It helps me live. At least, right now.

I can't

Could I just hold you tight

And let you bleed in my arms tonight?

Could I sing you to sleep

And let your heartbeat be the rhythm?

Could I just whisper-I love you

And hear you say it to me in every breath you take?

Dear Prince Charming

Dear Prince Charming,

I saw you walk down our favourite lane, hand-in-hand with the girl next door everyone speaks about.
Scarlet dress, blue eyes, supple skin, brave heels.
I notice how you take your steps with her, examining and thinking, mapping and wondering, either to put your heel down before your toe or otherwise, just so that your shoe makes a louder noise.
You hold her hip, like you practiced with me, rounded around her waist so perfectly.
And she melts over you like chocolate sauce on my sundae, merging together the disastrous imperfections.
Both of you fail to notice me walk down the same street, struggling my way into the house with bags of bonbons for my younger sister and groceries for my nagging mother.
I observe how slowly your lips break into a smile and she laughs throwing her head back and turning to you.
I wonder which joke you had told her, was it the one about the shop we used to buy racquets from? Or about how your father dealt with the police complaint?
Dear Prince Charming, I know you so well that I understand how limited your sense of humour is. But repetition makes it funnier and our jokes never get old.
I can still remember the night your hand melted into mine and you held me through the night, just in comfortable silence.
And how you held two cups of coffee in your hand for two whole hours outside the interview hall, expecting me to walk out in need of it..
I heard from the redhead neighbour we usually hang out with, that you asked her to the summer dance. It surprised me. Our rhythmic practices for three odd months is wasted upon a girl we used to make fun of?
She wears short skirts, red lipstick, stunning mascara and phony personality. She stood you up, the night we first spoke and you choose to take her to the dance we've practiced for together.
She could never belong to anybody and here I am, giving all I have to just bring you back to me.
But I cross my heart in pregnant pain and realize that, Dear Prince Charming, you're settling for less than a Princess and I'm positive that this is your loss.

Metamorphosis

"Smells, like music, hold memories. She breathed deep, and bottled it up for posterity."
-The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

People evolve, some grow out and adapt to the society and others, they grow in and find solace within the confines of their rooms. The latter is like a butterfly not wanting to fly, as it misses being a caterpillar, no one had told her (the butterfly) that she needn't revert back in order to keep what she had.
I walked down the lane I used to love,today. The smell of the greenery transported me back to the days I cycled down the same streets. I watched a few kids ride across me, they might have been a few years younger than me and it hit me, the fact that the desperation of being social had got to me so deep, that I forgot the joy of being left alone,just to myself. And I remembered this journey, this metamorphosis, this growth, this cycle of life that is and will always continue to define you as a person. The transformation from silent walks down a few streets, alone, humming to myself, to cycling with another friend whom I never spoke to, to riding shotgun in my car and looking at these streets as if they deserved nothing but pollution; from green trees to their expressive autumns, to the shade during the summer, to their disappearance and non existence; from a girl whose silence spoke volumes, whose gestures were just adorable, to a blunt, lost, depressed, lonely teenager. The revelation of this transformation just beat the conscious in me that told me I have had a good time as an extrovert.

"Change is one thing. Acceptance is another."
-The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

I never realised when my life started to revolve around people, their expectations, the society, my family, I just never knew how things flipped over for me. From the silent, keep-to-myself, I just broke out of the shell and started finding comfort in other people's words and beliefs. And unknowingly, my life diverted onto a track that was meant to be mine but was never going to stay too long. The stuff that once made me enjoy life, defined happiness for me were no longer a part of life. There were people, too many people, to even know if it was actually a dream. The joy of privacy never excited me, it always had to be shared, people always had to know. In fact, the little things like drizzles on a Saturday afternoon or hot Maggi couldn't make me happy anymore. To be able to adjust, to be able to understand, to be able to fit in were the primary keys of life and I learnt the art of impressing and yes, dominating. But things that are not meant to be don't stay along with you forever, they fade away, as simply as they came in. They're flashy, momentary excitements which sends chills down your spine by their very existence but they are never definitions of life, never who you are ought to be.

"Human beings are creatures of habit, and it is amazing what kind of things they can get used to."
-The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

The butterfly cannot become a caterpillar again, but Hope that her counterparts will reach her soon, keeps her going, keeps her alive. But it changes her forever. Because hope is never concrete, just its presence in the abstract sense can help you survive, but can never help you become happy.
Depression knocks on my door every now and then, and it is unexplainable, the pain. It just comes and goes on its own. But finding pieces of yourself and putting them back together, walking down the same old roads, loving the movies you regret missing, reading and rereading your favourite poems, cycling down with a stranger whose presence doesn't disturb you, will keep you away from the world filled with people. With material satisfaction, with expectations, with promises, with futures.

It's a cycle. Life always is, there is no escape from the past. One can never escape one's own roots, no matter how much we try to let go. We still belong here, within the confines of our own rooms and we are answerable only to ourselves because the only guarantee of a future you have, is you.

 "Anything is possible in Human Nature. Love. Madness. Hope. Infinite Joy. Of the four things that were Possible in Human Nature, Rahel thought that Infinnate Joy sounded the saddest."
-The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

Unconditionally

If beauty is truth, there is nothing I can find half as truthful as you
If words meant emotion and eyes meant expression, there is no truer form of friendship.
We lay in bed, a few metres apart. I fit perfectly well into the cushioned corners of your bed. Curled,locked in,cozy,surreal comfort. And in the other corner you lay under layers of blankets,suffocating your emotions,hardly breathing. You were broken. And I just lay on the other side. I should have hugged you,caressed you, held you in my arms, and let you break a little less. But I chose to stay away. I chose the distance in silence,in expressible spaces. Those spaces were soon filled,not by my presence,but by words. Words can break it and make it. You're 17 and beautiful. More beautiful than you were yesterday. That night,in the darkness, I understood your depth. I understood that the kid I knew has grown up to be so introspective,understanding and intellectual in all her naivety. Somethings in life are left unsaid,I don't want this to be left half-done. So,to you,my only best friend. I love you unconditionally. There needs to be no reason behind what I feel for you. No emotion behind the attachment we have. No superiority in the bond we share. Nothing. Just love which breeds all that is great. Love that grows over the two of us not only in celebration,but also in the darkest of silence. The two of us have reasons to hate,but why are we above it? Because,our love surpasses the understanding of hate. The tumor which hate is,is killed by this passion. To all of us who never reflected upon your intelligence,I dedicate this. To unconditionally love and intertwine lives. To be there just because we are your friends. And me? Unconditional,that is all I have for you.

You and I

You are an emotion
Burning red,a bleeding hue
And I am the colour
Opaque black,unrealistically plain
On the canvas
Of depressions and dents
Life turns to us,smiling constantly
And we merge like wet ink and tears
While the unscathed history of ours is-
Jotted down on paper at length
We are an appealing mess
A side of yours
Fitting right into the shape of my arm
We are but noisy silence
In the splurge of endless thoughts
Of worthless emotions
Of chaos and bubble like happiness
You and I
Make the perfect,imperfect
The right,wrong
The nonexistent,alive
You and I
Are like pieces of the jigsaw puzzle
Incomplete without the other

Highway: A Reflection

Highway starring Alia Bhatt and a very weird hero was a movie which gave me a lot to think about. A journey repeated, songs so soulful, beauty and grace in the whispers of nature, a beauty. This movie was a true beauty. You could feel like you were getting away from your past,from yourself. Like you are moving constantly along with Alia Bhatt. When she opens up to breathe fresh air and speak way too much, you find the ebullient joy of freedom and escape. Like the suffocation inside of you is just worth letting go off, that there is no use of holding anything inside.
There are things in life you need to reflect upon. They come with the beauty but the iceberg,undercurrent too. Maybe life has always meant escape for me,to not do what I am supposed to, to be able to get away from responsibilities, to run away somewhere where the sun wakes me in the morning and not the alarm, where the air is so fresh that confines of household is not comforting. Somewhere I can carry a bunch of books and read them without having to feel guilt.
I know,I know I cannot escape like the actress did. I know I'm bound by society, but what's wrong with expecting? With knowing that you belong elsewhere? I don't want to find love on the journey,I want to find myself. Highway was not a great love story,this was my problem with the movie. But then, she found herself at the end, and I think and believe journeys are always supposed to be introspective. Where you reflect upon yourself, give your time space and time. Give your thoughts a second chance. Speak to yourself. Take decisions. Life life a little longer. Run away from yourself. Make peace with your past. Just like she did, Begin Again.

Big  Time  Swiftie  

This Place.....

There was a time when The Place was my favorite. There was a time when I adored every aspect of being a part of it. But it all changed, I shifted to a different Place. And this Place was the most pathetic encounter of my life. You know you have this feeling of kicking something out of your heart with all the force you have? You know that moment when you say "I've had enough." This Place gives me negative vibes of existence itself.

This Place was a business,a factory of excellent results. Encroaching privacy,intervening in personal lives,banning pleasure,being sadistic was kind of their motto. And the worst part is, This Place treated their customers like nonsense.Like bits of life contributing to their excellent services,profits and undoubtedly great research. This Place is a filthy little building which made its customers constantly claustrophobic. And they never took a step back when it came to suffocation either. They adopted a great international background,a clean,open minded,wide,wholesome approach towards their customers. But the foreground was dirty. Filled with minds which are worse than narrow, expressions which are detested, feeling which are cold and oppressive. It needed a little cleaning and that's is exactly when I along with a few friends of mine stepped into the foreground as customers to this worthless organisation.

I cannot deny how much we're benefited,thanks to the background. But like all their customers,they ill-treat us too. Of course, we weren't the ones who shut up, we clamored for our rights and yet we never disgraced the organisation in anyway. We represented this business with selfish motto I agree, but we also were put off and underestimated every time we took a step forward. The book shelves which gave us knowledge were smaller than my study desk. The infrastructure was no better than a matchbox. The provisions were of no quality at all. We stayed there two whole years,trying to make a little space for ourselves,finding love and families,emotions that can never be replaced. But who would've thought that the place we came to clean up, dirtied itself a lot more that it makes me write this article. Who would've thought that teenage mind-sets would be filled with depression and disappointments? Who would've thought that a place some call a Temple would be the cause of heartbreaks,regrets,dismay and sorrow?

Who would've thought that when we were supposed to end on happy terms,we were instead cursing the business? Who would've thought that the end would be so easy? When I think of it now,I will miss my friends who made the years at work worthwhile,but I shall never miss the organisation. Every contact,every second I spent at This Place is happily forgotten. My friends and I have no answer to this tragedy,we're just happy that we found a family together. But This Place could unfortunately never be called Home.

Unsent Letters

"Baby,love me lights out." I just wish, Beyonce. I just wish.

When the night falls on us,
We feel wide awake like sunrise,
We shine like perfectly cut diamonds,
Our hearts plastered with sellotape,
We wait out in silence, laying on our back,
Staring at the world above,the perfect world.
And inside my heart I write a letter,
A letter to fill this space,the warm air between us
I turn to you,to scream out the words,
Chalked on black slate-like heart.
But the minute I turn, the words inside die.
Wipe out,like a wet cloth's magical effect on the chalked emotions.
There is only so much you can say to fill in silence,
Only so much you can look into another's eyes and say
Only so much you can actually feel and believe
Only so much you can write to fit into the unposted letter

So I redraft the letter,and now it says only so much that it must
And as I space-back time,love,memories and life,
I know that unsent letters are those which are never space-backed
Because they drown in emotions,in imagery unbelievable, unrealistic
Because in reality,these unsent letters will never exist.



When you start writing letters, you realise that more than the receiver, you were writing letters to yourself. To reassure yourself what you feel and need from the other person. And then, as time passes by, you draft this 500 word letter. You back-space your words over and over again to give it perfect shape. And this letter is reduced to what you want the receiver to see and not what you actually mean.

Darker Shades of Happy Beginnings.

Curtains Fall.

Masked faces fake smiles

Hands tremble in selfish fear

Hearts beat a little faster

Slow music catches pace

Curtains Rise.

A story is told

Touching none

Curtains Fall.

Unsuccessful stares

Bewildered smiles

Transparent feelings

Fill the hot breeze

Curtains Rise. Curtains Fall. Curtains Raise. Curtains Fall.

Scene after Scene

Line after Line

Meaning's Lost.

Curtains Raise.

The Drama of Life comes to Life

Curtains Fall.

The Drama of Life continues.

She's my favorite from 90210.

What's your story?

There has been a question killing me every time I look at a face, eyes which glare with passion, lips which speak pain. This face comes in forms of a hungry little boy,a glance of a pretty girl,a smile lingering on a boy's face on a lonely road. :What's Your Story?:
What is their story,how different is their life from mine,is their pain similar to mine and their happiness? Do I experience the same magnitude of happiness and love as they do? But I'm making peace with the fact that I can never know their stories even if their faces flash in my head when I close my eyes every night. So, I decided that in the world of my thoughts,I'd save instances from these stories. Maybe one day I'd make head or tail out of it. Maybe one day, I would actually understand what people actually mean and how they cross each others path and maybe one day, I would understand their stories. The stories that they'll never tell me. Here is one such instance, that my head will grow used to.

I took tired steps down the sheltered pathway and this couple grabbed my attention. In the middle of the road, they stood in each others' arms. I could tell when the broke away,that it was a tough separation. I walked closer to them, and they looked back at each other. She turned,he turned and they looked at each other at once. There was this moment I believed in love and destiny,like you can actually feel the presence of the person around you,like you can hold on to loads of memories and then judge a pattern and get used to it,like getting used to each other and their habits. I walked ahead and the girl brushed past against me. She looked me in the eye,her eyes swollen and her face red with emotion. I could instantly feel her vibe of sorrow,but she could only feel my stare. A stare which might have seemed judgy. I tried following the boy,he walked with hands in his pockets,turned back a few more times but she was gone,briskly waded through other couples and then disappeared into the crowd. He faded and their story in my head lingered for long. I didn't know why they were separated,I didn't know what was bothering them, I didn't even know how the boy felt about the separation,but the atmosphere was filled with heartbroken-feels and I could see it seep inside me.



Imagination can do magic,magic that never existed. I might be over-thinking the whole thing,but I don't understand what I shouldn't Imagination is truly something I would love to depend on,when I'm getting old and boring. So yeah,there was separation. Looks can be deceiving, but what the heart sees is greater than anything else.

Losing you.

Paint me a picture with your words
An echo I can hear beyond the oceans
Sing me a melody full of pain
A tune I'll hum when we're miles away
Write me a letter with your sweat
A fistful of hard work close to my heart
Hold out your hand in the darkest of nights
An assurance that I'll keep going forever
Call out my name with utmost passion
A whisper to string the love in my heart
Cradle my head in the warmth of your chest
A stolen heartbeat I'd hear for a lifetime
Instead,you choose to disappear.
To break me over and over again.
A dream left unreal,a song forever unsung.
Your breath,your hazel eyes,your prominent presence
Lost,all lost.Leaving being a promise.
Revive your soul,your dead soul
A rebirth,I am counting on
Paint me a picture with your words
An echo so strong that in my head,everything's messed up.

Heart-Breaker.

Daylight sets in the perfect mood

For confessions and dreary tunes

A gleeful long drive in your car

Stretched out,wasted and naive,we look

You look at me making sense out of a teddy

Leaving your city,now disappearing in the rear view mirror

We drive along roads long,clean and green

And munch upon my favorite salsa treat

In a while we feel exhausted and numb

So we leave the car,for warm fresh air

Sunburns on our skins,already unevenly tanned

We scan the sky for signs of rest

I lie on the bonnet of the bridal-red car

Letting the warmth seep deep into my chest

You turn to me,playing your black guitar

Unknowingly,singing my favorite Country tune

As I do a little jig and leap into happiness

You hold my moist,sweaty warm palm

The look in your deep black eyes

Says it all,says you need me,says I'm your all

But what can I do? I'm not meant for you

You didn't come with a tag which said 'MINE'

My sorry teary eyes look right into yours

Apologizing helplessly like it's all my fault

You offer me your heart in a silver-plated box

I say,I mean we after all wouldn't last

Because we can not stand the test of time

And we can not last in the bright moonlight

We can not,can not be forever one

I'm not made for you,and you too are not.

I do not want your heart,I also can't see it broken

But I'd rather break it than throw it away

I'd rather let you go,than hold you close to nothingness

So I step aside and the fluent music in your eyes halt

Abruptly,like we ended and slowly

The warmth of your smile disappears.

The aura of your presence dies...

I know,I know I'll never have you back

I know,I know I've broken your heart.

You drive away and I stay there

Still looking into the sky for signs of relief.

So don't give up..

Admiration.

Like spoken word poetry flowing through a crowd to touch hearts
Like emotional speeches on a farewell day
Like vanilla ice-cream with chocolate sauce on a hot afternoon
Like best friends 2-hour-long conversations over the phone
Like lonely pleasures in rereading your favorite poem
Like dreamy skies and nostalgic late night chats
Like people who speak in accents and through silent gestures
Like helping hands for tedious work
Like praises for your immense talent
Like beauty of a graceful dancer
Like long drives on unforgettable nights

There is a reason why I love cute people, because their presence makes everything seem brighter and better.

To them,to you and all you beautiful readers. Stay cute, be sweet, make me live a little more.:)

Freshness

Still dew drops glittery,transparent on the leaf node

The sunlight cast back colourless white yet retaining its impact mapping a rainbow on its concave surface

Early morning fog sheds away as sunbeams fall upon the blossoming violet flowers

The aroma of hot choco-coffee flows across the house

Interlacing the essence of the breaking dawn with the beauty of the colorfulness of a new-born life

Like the reddish-pink,ochre,fair skinned cheek of a baby curled up in her mother's arms,not letting go of the warmth of her closeness

Happiness like the deep red blush of a newly-wed, truth like putting together the broken pieces of shattered glass, togetherness like the desirous red atmosphere in front of the furnace in the adorned uncertain home of a honeymooning couple, love like puppy Boo's first glance in the morning..

Newness is the air,freshness in every breath.

A new start,a beautiful one indeed.