James sang, ‘Let it go’. And so I am.

I’ve kept this as a draft for too long. This is me letting go.

I can probably come up with a million insults. I can bring in dozens of  references, edgy remarks and sarcasm, but it still wouldn’t be enough.

Truth is, nothing was ever enough with you. My memories of you are far too many and not quite enough. I was torn between preserving your memory and holding you captive on the walls of my mind, and banishing you from sight and mind and never reminding myself of how funny your eyebrows were.

I’d like to think I was in love with you, but truth is, I never was. I know that now.

Loving you was not a John Green novel, but quite the Bruce Lee movie. I did not fall in love with you, I did not walk into it with my eyes open. You were never my  ‘star-crossed’ lover, never my first love, never my significant other. I’m not sure if you were ever mine. I knew I mattered to you, but I was never sure if I did so in the right way. I never knew what it was that we had.

Now I like to pretend that you were just some lover. Or a crush gone too far.

But that’s alright. You gave me perspective. You taught me something about myself, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. You taught me that it’s not easy for everyone to fall in love, or stay that way. You made me realise that we were all wired differently. You taught me I was, too.

I’d like to believe you know what you taught me, but you probably don’t. You’ll never see this – these words.

But these words are something else I’d like to thank you for. I never knew these words before you. These words didn’t come before. But now they do. Initially, they came on Coldplay nights when my vision was too blurry from tears, but now they come like the honey-flavored remarks came to your mouth. Always, and on point.

I began writing about you, but now that I look at you, I’m not too sure if they were ever about you. Now I write because the words come. Now I write not because I’m ‘heartbroken’ (I never have been, I realize now), but because I do not know a better way to let some things go. I write about different things now. And these words feel like the consolation prize for being as messed up as I am.

You’ve changed, so have I. You raised the bar for being a lot of things I’d rather not mention, but I’m no walk in the park either.

I’ve fought with you, given you a piece of my mind, and laughed at you time and again. But now I’d like to thank you.

Thank you for entering my life, and more importantly, for leaving. I know I’m going to see you soon, but this is where, after three years, I kiss your memory goodbye.

Our stories now lie in scribbled conversations and never-rhyming verses in the backs of notebooks, but don’t worry. I promise you I’ll keep them safe, and away from sight.

 

 

 

Advertisements

An Idea for a Poem.

I come alive in the brightest of minds,

At first they wonder why.

I grow stronger in their heads,

Until I learn to fly.

I learn their inner workings

Before the day is done.

In the end, now a sapling,

Their thousand masks I’ve worn.

Then a friend helps me out,

Logic falls in place.

In their brains now I shout,

Never had a fairer race.

I grow stronger by the moment,

They cannot put me to rest;

Seeking silence they spread the thought,

And everyone is now earnest.

I’m more than I was now,

Never been so fine;

I’m a possibility, now they know,

So I’ll never die.

But these are mere mortals in my vicinity,

So I let them be aloof,

Death is their only certainty;

But me? Ideas are bulletproof.

 

(I love the movie V for Vendetta and this line stuck with me through nights of brainstorming. Hence, this.)

Stars.

Back among the quiet streets,  he said we’d be stars.

Said, our love would lie in the galaxies.

Every night a new fight.

We’d shine the brightest in the darkness of the night.

But now I’m in a crowded city,

And the sky lies in cracks between the skyscrapers,

The smoke and filth burns my eyes,

The stars were a story of the past,

Oh, take me back to the start.

 

 

Keeping love in photographs.

One face smiled at him, much brighter than the thirteen others.

Putting his family picture back inside his wallet, he took out another.

Now only one face smiled. His daughter. His little girl.

The war had been long. Too long and too cruel.

He was a changed man. With a pang he realized that everything back home had changed too.

His little girl was no longer little.

She had learnt about this cruel world too, he thought, as he knelt in front of her grave.

 

Defying gravity.

He was my sun, my world revolved around him.

I was his earth, I was his world.

We lived on a planet that insisted that love was like falling.

Fell down too far, felt the darkness envelope us.

Until he decided to defy gravity, rising like a star.

He left me here, on this Earth.

But he was my sun, so my world no longer turns.

And I’m stuck here on this endless day, while my lover reigns over the night sky.


 

Colours.

I remember the day we met.

You stood there, made of all the colours there ever were. You  were there, like this unforgettable portrait of  all the beauty in the world. You were there,  like a reference to every masterpiece ever drawn.

I gaped, in awe of all that was you. All the light and hope that you radiated all around.

And now that you’re gone, my world is devoid of everything. Even darkness.

Eyes.

Her inspiration lay in his eyes. It always had.

And maybe it was that what led her to believe his innocence. She believed the truth in his eyes.

But when those eyes closed forever, she was the one who was blinded.

The End.

“But it can’t be.”

The words seemed to hover in the air, slowly fading away.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They had never meant for things to end this way.

So this, this was where it all led? All the promises, all the dreams and their hopes?

But she said she would be here, he thought. She promised. His predicament did not allow him to see, but at least he’d have heard her voice. That cheerful tone. Did she forget or had she given up? But she would never forget. That could only mean one thing. They were history.

Well.

He knelt down, and his hands touched concrete. He let the flowers lie in their wake. Then he turned around, vowing never to look for her again. His walking stick guided him out of there. Out of the graveyard.

He had just fulfilled her last wish. He had left her flowers at her grave.

Who she is.

A thirteen-year old fighting with her demons. To her, satisfaction is death. She falls in love everyday with the little things in life, and gets her heart broken ever so often. Doesn’t know who she is or where she belongs. But determines to find out someday. She’s discovering herself, bit by bit, day by day. Her dream is to leave a mark, live for a reason and die for a cause. Her everyday struggle is to be a better person than she was yesterday. Believes in trivial things such as magic, love and humanity.

Her heart is owned by her one true love, music. Coldplay and Arctic Monkeys guide her through everyday while Ed Sheeran sings her to sleep. Songs get her through midnight meltdowns. She reads books to escape from reality. Reality never fascinated her much, anyway. Today, books are her reality.

Constantly conflicted, she has never known tranquility.

‘The middle of adventure is such a perfect place to start.’

This is her story, right from the middle.