Tea leaves

Turn around,

for a moment, a second;

Turn around and see what you left behind.

The carcass of memories, untouched, unblemished;

Yet comfortably, unfelt.

Did you give it a moment like I asked you to?

Did you understand my fallacies?

Did you understand what those promises meant to me?

How my reality shifted from knowing, understanding and loving;

To cold, untrusting and unruly?

Did you see what you left behind?

How distant it became from what it wanted to be?

How the imprints you’ve left on my soul, will always remain.

It’s been 69,820 minutes since,

But nothing has really changed.

Picture credits: natgeotravel, Instagram

(Note: This piece is incomplete. But as I’ve realized, it’s always going to remain incomplete until my thoughts receive some form of closure with regards to the object of these thoughts. The editing is forever ongoing on this particular post. )

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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.

Foreword

Hey there!

My only regret is that I picked up a pen.

A fountain pen, if I may, with the smoothest roll.

I enjoyed my penmanship, and I was engrossed in the chemistry between the paper and my emotions. I felt trapped in the most divine conversation between the writer and the written.

This bondage led me to artistic freedom and I have only since, embarked deeper.

And I enjoy it.

Many have felt this before, many will feel it again – but I’m hoping I will deconstruct from one, only to reconstruct into another.

That I will be able to be a million imperfect people, before I stumble upon writing something I’m proud of. A hundred identities to sculpt one.

This is my world. Enjoy!