Be black. Be white.

Live.

Think about it, no matter how hard you try not to make bad choices or how many nights you lose sleep over what you really want to do with this one chance that you get at life, it never turns out the way you had imagined for it to be. In fact, it resembles little to no amount to the picture you had in your mind. Doesn’t it fill you with extreme resentment, that all that people ever told you to do was to make the ‘right’ decision but somehow, somewhere, you lose total control over this little line between life and death and eventually fall into the chaotic motion of this universe. No matter what you do or how you do it, things will happen, unexpected things, sometimes great things and sometimes heartbreaking things. Even if you decide to stand still and rooted to the ground for the rest of your life, the sun will rise and the butterflies will flap their wings to cause hurricanes. So do that thing you’ve been afraid of doing, mess around a little. Make some bad choices and make some great ones. Step out of that grey area. Be black. Be white. Exist loudly. And most importantly, live however you want to live. 

The world wants you to be strong.

You know what, let’s be those people who care, the kind who doesn’t shy away from the idea of intimacy nor hesitate to love unconditionally. Let’s be the kind who stays a while longer, to be the shoulder for anybody who seeks one, a home for anybody who needs one. To be that person who stays behind after a party to help the host clean up. someone who shows up for the people who feel unseen. Let you and me be the kind who believe, believe that kindness and empathy is not dead, in the goodness of the world. We shall be the people who take risks and refuse to hide away in the darkness. To be the ones to love them, who hate us. 

Maybe it’ll take us everything to not be hardened in a world which can be pretty unfair. To be through so much at the hands of others and still choose to care and love. But Damn, are we strong. 

And as Oscar Wilde once said, “it takes great courage to see the world in all its tainted glory and still to love it”. 

The Beauty of The Dark

I’m getting disturbingly affectionate with the dark, lately. In a way that makes an alarm go off in my brain every time I take a step towards the black hole of nothingness, through the shadows of the damned, holding hands with everything that’s bound to destroy what’s left of my soul. But to be honest, something about the malicious still ceases to fascinate me, filling me with the right amount of shady excitement and making me crave for more, every second through the journey. As much as I acknowledge the wrong in the sin and the consequences awaiting the sinner, the thought of it fills me up with this unexplainable warmth that I so vulnerably long for. 

Before giving me that look, the look of despise and contempt, of utter judgement, ask yourself, for isn’t this something we have all encountered? Something that keeps us sane, giving us strength to hold on, amidst  everything wrong in the lives of yours and mine. Isn’t it the bad in our thoughts that let us mouth the pretentious good in the face of society? For we know only of right as what isn’t wrong. 

Afterall, aren’t we all just the children of an Eve who chose to be remorselessly nefarious. 

What a wonderful world.

Dreaming about a land where confetti boxes are filled with happiness,
Hope grows from earth where seeds are sown,
Where no amount of hurt is strong enough to hold on after a rain,
Sugar in the chocolate’s just a synonym for joy,
Dreams come true with every breath we take,
A place where pain comes to bid it’s final goodbyes,
A land with no past to hold us back nor future to worry about.
All is well.

My truth.

Constantly searching for a home in someone yet to be known,
Desperately trying to avoid my own truth.
When the time comes,
Why do I still feel so unprepared, even now,
Even after this many failed attempts?

Owing my all to all whom I hurt
In the name of something far less than reality.
Hiding behind shadows,
Far from light.
Finding comfort in things ought to be feared.
An abode more disturbingly so.

Letting it consume my conscience,
My truth.

Just another one of those incidents in the life of a young girl.

“No” she whispered. As quietly as she could. 

Was it to not let others hear them in that dark corner of the road, or was it just not to hurt his feelings that much?

He still kept on coming closer to her, gently crushing her against that old and crumbling wall, trying to remove those hands of hers pushing him away, standing obstacle between them on that “special moment”, at least for him.

She kept shaking her head. She was confused, confused between love and love. She was confused for whether to act on the love she had for herself or to keep on feeding to the one she had for him. 

She kept shaking her head. “Please baby…” still trying to keep it as soft and inoffensive as possible. She was drowning, half in fear and disgust and half, of course, in love. 

“Shhhhh!” He was even gentler this time, like death creeping on through the veins of old people, slowly and unnoticeable to the naked eye. She looked at his face, his eyes were closed. He was in ecstasy. She haven’t seen him this happy around her since in the infancy of their relationship and somehow the innocence of her love for him made her senseless this time.  

He kept running his fingers through her body, starting from her neck to her lips, then down to her stomach through her chest. He was high, high on lust, it was consuming his senses but at that moment, he just did not care! For he felt like ‘a real man’. 

Things were a bit different on the other side. Tears dripping down her cheeks, she swallowed her screams and stood there, like a statue, pretty sure she felt like one too, and she did it all ‘in the name of love’. 

“If not for him, then for whom? If this can make him happy, make him love me more…” A thousand thoughts ran through her mind and none of them could save her then. She was being betrayed by her on consciousness. She was helpless but she did not know then. 

It’s interesting how the heart of a female, functions. Battles are being fought on her name, people die on her word. Her sound have the power to manipulate thousands, yet is she easily manipulated, toyed with. She grows up learning to give, her favorite things to her brother, her dreams to her family and finally, her body to some man. 

Just a silly, stupid creature which just doesn’t know what she is actually capable of. 

Their walk back to the main road wasn’t as hard as to when they went searching for that dark corner. No, when he went searching for that dark corner dragging her with him. Now that sounds about right! But it doesn’t make much change, does it? 

He held her hand tightly and looked at her often, his eyes were shining like a master happy with his dog’s obedience, he was proud of her. His whole face was glowing.

She gave him a weak smile back. Like the dog after doing everything in it’s reach to please it’s master. 

She felt weak, her whole body was shaking inside out. Each step she took, she felt it even harder to walk. She hid it all with that smile of her’s. Her whole world was trumbling down inside of her. She did not feel like herself. She couldn’t. She felt disgust,anger, pity and so much more of those unexplainable feelings one feel after doing something which you know you cannot forgive yourself for doing, not anytime soon. 

But she held it all in and kept on smiling. After all, she was but a loyal dog and She made her master proud.

Fireplay

“So it’s goodbye then?” She asked, trying to bring a smile to her face that was so wet with the tears that kept on flowing through her cheeks, not ready to give in to the fake happy face that she was so desperately trying to put on.

Everything in his life was going wrong, but what really made him feel utterly weak was the fact that there was nothing he could do about it. He just stood there, staring at his feet, not knowing what to say, nor to feel. This was the moment that he had always most dreaded, The moment he was expected to word out what he felt, the truth, a truth that even he himself wasn’t sure what was. he wasn’t ready to part ways with her, not like this. Everything, every moment of their shared memories, every secrets that was now the two of theirs, every fights, nights, all of it came down to this very moment. He never thought hell would be this easy to find.

Their lives collided a year ago. And since then, it was a perfect work of effortless comedy. It was in the ways that they refused to define what they had, that made it exciting, rather thrilling. But somehow, the both of them knew well, but chose not to acknowledge, that the fire they played with was bound to hurt at the end.

“Well, this is embarrassing” she added, with an air of cheer, trying to hide the fact that her voice was cracking.

She liked to believe that what they had was something more than just friendship, something a little more than just some happy times. She used to look at him when he wasn’t noticing and wish that someday, this person would look into her eyes and realise, that this is exactly where he wants to be for the rest of his life. But that would be too much to ask for, don’t you think? Because sooner or later, one have to understand, that life is but one unfair game.

“I’m sorry” finally he said, drowning in the scarcity of words to make her stay. How he wished for all of this to be just a dream!  And then, he glanced up and took one look at her face, one hasty look, a look he knew would make no difference now. he could see that he had lost her. Lost her to the cruelty of life, of love.

Our stories

We all have in our minds the pride of being able to lead a free life. Free to choose what we want to do next, free to feel everything the way we want it to be felt. But seldom do we wonder how we actually reach at the choices we make, what actually makes us crave for certain things more than the rest. Even the decisions we take much deliberately are in some way not entirely our own. Even at times when we let ourselves choose the ‘road less taken’, to be different, or perhaps spontaneous, we end up just where the universe had planned for us to be.
I think it is quite beautiful, how everything we do, even the ones done unintentionally, are just paving way towards the actual purpose of each one of our lives. And no matter how sceptical we are at the idea of it, or how unconvinced we are about the certainty of the existence of the theoretical ‘butterfly effect’, we are all nothing but a story written earlier on in some pages somewhere. Not mere characters in some bigger picture, but the story itself. A story written so carefully around the life of mine, and another around yours. That even when we all are a huge tangled mess, we cease to exist as an entirety, a detailed, complete entirety. And hence the thought of how much time and effort the author has put into each one of us makes me believe that all our stories are have so less in common. Our stories are so different, different yet so related.
We are all here, drawing breath in the satisfaction of being autonomous when it comes to our lives, knowing less that whatever comes next, was already hand-picked for you and me by the author of our little stories.

What if it isn’t love?

Perhaps it’s not always just about love…
I mean, I have not seen two people baring with eachother just in the name of the above mentioned phenomena unless there is more to the story. There is adoration, admiration,fear,desire, excitement, pride and much more to it.
Sometimes we just keep them around in the fear of being alone. For loneliness is one of the scariest of feelings to be felt.
Some people makes our lives easier and we let them hang around because of it. As much as it sounds so selfish and cruel, it can occur to be one of those reasons too. I’m not speaking about those cliché moments when lovers say that their ‘love’ for this person gives them purpose or a ‘reason to live’ , but when this person gives you advices or a shoulder to lean on or even help you out in other ways during tough times, you feel for him/her and this feelings are quickly read as love. Or you feel like it’s wrong not to give them love when they have done so much for you, you try to love out of guilt. Or even, sometimes you keep that person around like an insurance policy. You know, ‘just in case’ something goes wrong again.
It’s quite funny how easily we’d give up on actual love for our own selfish reasons. Even though most of the time this occurs unintentional to our consciousness, but ultimately it’s about survival to us, rather than just love.

People pretend a lot. And they do it so that the people around them like what they see. So the people around pretend to like what they see and they act accordingly so that the people on the receiving end feels the same way as how they pretend to see those people. It’s funny how this cycle of pretentiousness work so effortlessly. Really, I mean anyone can easily break this cycle by being real for once but no, the cycle goes on. Because people want people, even when they don’t actually need most of them.

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