Subtleties

I always knew that you felt it too.

On some level of your existence, you were moving towards me.

Slowly, gradually, constantly.

The slight glide in your steps were what gave you away.

The mild motivation you gave to yourself – and the muffled choices under your breath to take more little steps.

You didn’t know what you were inching towards. You didn’t know it was the eye of a storm.

You didn’t know happiness was being lost in this calm center that you saw.

The tides were wailing, raising cries. There was thunder, a barrage of emotion, unrest and the constant need to cause despair.

But your heart sought the center, the centered calm of the storm.

I don’t know what sparkled in your eyes, but I knew it would be lost. And I thought the deep unrest would scare you away, but you were adamant.

And because the Universe knows, that it ought to reward the stubborn heart. It brought you closer to me.

And I know not what will become of you, because right now, I know not what will become of me.

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Dear Universe

Haunted.

I wish I could tell you that my heart needed a soft embrace to land on, every Saturday night, when I finally get the time to process the week that has gone by.

I wish I could tell you I cried – that I could hold my chest with bated breath every day, but that I didn’t want to. To protect myself when all I wanted to do was set it free.

To feel things that I’ve wanted to feel. It’s been forever.

I’ve been oscillating between not feeling something at all and with feeling miserable at the rare opportunity that I’m required to feel.

It’s a trap.

What do you do if you’ve had to choose between something bad and something dead?

I made my choice.

I want neither.

You’re gonna have to give me something beautiful, something great. Something worth investing in. Something that’s worth filling my heart into, and setting it wild and free. It’s really big now – I’ve been reshaping everything it’s been.

And it’s ready.

Anecdote 1

We were a beautiful storm.

We ran, we cried – we felt time pass us by. We talked, we laughed, giggled about our idiosyncrasies.

Amused by the way we saw magic in each others’ eyes.

Wrote poetry, prose.

Felt the other in the winds, the rains.

Every drop that fell was echoed through the sirens of time.

We were infinite, I swear. I cannot forget what we felt.

The phantoms of which, are haunting me.

There was innocent honesty in everything we shared – not a moment left without recollection, yet, there was a connection shared. Far beyond our years.

Immortalising you in my forevers, whilst you, found your solace in my paradise – I swear. We were beyond comprehension sometimes.

We lived in our bubble. Our little bubble of tender love. So soft and velvety, yet so rooted in reality. We never side-stepped, we never spared a moment together.

But I can’t tell you what happened, for I do not know myself.

We heard voices in our bubble, cacophonies of everyone else.

We slowly stepped out, the sanctity of the bubble began to fade.

We were sure nothing would happen but,

Why do dying embers still burn?

Why do lost loves and hopes of crystalline forevers, continue to blind my eyes despite being broken?

Why do I fuel a connection despite it being broken like this?

Is it wrong to ask

For time to freeze.

For my brain to find peace, in that thought of you.

Still with me.

Dear heart of mine

Dear heart of mine,

I know what you want. I’ve memorised every inch of you.

I know that you grow in size, every time I catch up to you. Your dimensions stretch in every direction and you challenge me to pour into all corners of you. I love that sometimes, my growth and yours, synchronise – and for a few moments there, I can immerse myself completely into the comfort of us.

Dear heart of mine, I know you sway.

I know you change according to what is right. I know there are questions raised because of it. I know you are too dynamic to interpret sometimes. But, I love that you’re sure of your change. I love that you’re utterly calm, through your seeming turbulence. I love that I’m in awe of how complex you truly are and I love that you’re the only complication I want to spend my life truly understanding.

Dear heart of mine, I know that you care.

I know that you love deeply.

All seeds that are planted don’t grow up to bear fruits. Sometimes these trees will fall and sometimes the space that their roots leave behind, cannot be replaced.

Dear heart of mine, I know that you’ve bruised. In your vast heavenly wonderland, there are holes in your clouds. I know heaven’s gates sometimes allow souls that are heavy, and sometimes the joy has to give way for sorrow until it falls off the cloud.

Dear heart of mine, I know you’ve learned to be grateful. I know you know joy and I know you bathe in stardust. I know that sometimes you scream for my attention, and you throw tantrums until I pour love into you. I know you so well, and I love you so much.

Dear heart of mine, it’s okay to take your time to heal. It’s okay to protect yourself until you do. It’s okay to plant dynamites in the way of anybody who comes close to hurting you.

Dear heart of mine, I know you’re doing fine.

I know that you speak in tongues that are sometimes lost in translation,

but you speak anyway.

I know you don’t care about being understood by anybody else.

But I see you, I get you.

I’m there.

(Picture credits: earthofficial Instagram)

Discourse on Importance

“So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe, we’ll never know most of them.”

Perks of Being a Wallflower

They’d never know if our breaths smelled bad, or if our pillowcases carried the scent of our bed hair;

They’d never know if our sandals were on too tight, or if our jeans ripped felt a little uneasy;

They’d never know if our daily hustle involved a minute before the mirrors, obsessing over the little blemish beneath our chins;

They’d never know if our smile arched a certain way, with a few years behind it spent to perfect it;

They’d never know if we liked our burps, held our spoons with poise, pulled out chairs with less noise or smoothed our skirts to the symmetry of our thighs;

They’d never know if we hugged a little longer, wiped our tears, fidgeted beneath the table;

Or if we angled our pictures, turned our pages a little slowly or froze at the sight of a little bird;

They’d never know we tried twenty different shirts before we picked one they’d like, or if we paid a little more to seem a little nicer;

But darling, you see – notice things you can never reveal;

About the scent of your shampoo, the Bob Dylan songs; about the crease of your fringe, and the perfect ponytails;

About the feeling of warm sadness at the end of a really good day, or the secret blessings you shared watching an old couple sitting by a park bench;

About how you love that you notice things that aren’t really noticed, and you never let the details slip away;

About your love for clich├ęs and happy endings, your day dreams of perfect sunsets;

Between the inside and the out, idiosyncrasies are lost in translation; so if you’re the star performer singing on stage, make sure you are also clapping for yourself from the audience.

Dear Beloved

There are a million little epiphanies, that I never got to tell you about;

All the shunned emotion, all the revered thoughts.

All the songs I dwell in, that remind me of you.

A lost cause, I know. I’ve starred the prospect of never having you.

But I’ve smelled your scent, and I’ve felt the curls of your hair. The comfort of your presence, the unspoken connection that we share.

I often wonder about the magic in your fingertips; how adorable it was that you blinked the way you did. I could spend hours watching you talk with impatience, consternation, be lost in your trance.

Dear beloved, I wish that you knew – That the poker face I wore was a mask no more.

That the hues of my alter ego loved the idea of your love.

That she doted after the gestation of your soul.

That she longed for a time when you, could acknowledge everything that she would do; that she longed for a time when, you could sit across a table and see her paint you pictures of her life.

Dear beloved, if you only knew – how much she craved her time with you. How your mind fascinated her for everything it could be, and she saw you no less than what was, already.

Dear beloved, to her dismay – for who you were now, you could not convey; how you thought of her, held her, loved her fiercely,

But you were too less for who she is, and that is how things will be.

Image credits to the photographer on the Instagram page I found it on.

Catharsis

You’re too beautiful, inside and out, to never be happy again.

It’ll happen. You’ll take pictures in countries where the wineries are well known; where the mountains overlook the high tower buildings; where the people are friendly and they love you;

Where you go to your favourite University, your dorm decorated with pictures of everyone you love; you’ll have pretty lights to watch in your room; you’ll laugh, ride bikes, walk through thin bridges, star gaze;

You’ll feel the first rays of sunshine in a new place; play with snowballs or sand; learn about new music, new poets;

You’ll learn about work written by great thinkers – old and new; you’ll learn new languages and you’ll learn about people different from you;

You’ll do well, in every way unimaginable to you right now; you’ll receive the intellectual stimulation you crave for; you’ll have those conversations, you’ll discover those things;

You’ll learn to know that you’re absolutely spectacular just the way you are; just because things take time doesn’t mean they aren’t coming;

You’ll be so happy, a different kind of happy; you’ll learn that there’s a whole myriad of happy out there and you’ll be blessed enough to see them all.

You’re going to get there and you’ll make it eventually.

Image credits to the photographer on the Instagram page I found it on.