Wednesday, 30 January 2013

What's Your? - Confession Day 10 *UPDATED*

It's Day 10! Teehee. =D
You can know about the routine here.

So the day's confession is about MUSIC. 
Your favourite song, the story behind it.  Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO]


You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com.
OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box.




Music was apparently the only escape in life when everything turned its back toward me. It took me out of the blues, and held me my ground all the time. 





The post will be updated late night. You can even have the morning to yourself, if you wish.

Still lazy to work, and excited about college trip,
Ak.

Tuesday, 29 January 2013

What's Your? - Confession Day 9 *UPDATED*

SO sorry about the late post. Too much work, and sleep deprivation.
Day nine. You can know about the routine here.

So today's confession is about THE DARK SECRET.
Everyone has it. Deep down. The one you didn't even allow for your soul to see. Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO]


You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com.
OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box.






Enough said. <3

The post will be updated late night. You can even have the morning to yourself, if you wish.

Hopelessly ignoring work,
Ak.

Monday, 28 January 2013

What's Your? - Confession Day 8 *UPDATED*

Day ateeeeee! Ha, funny! Day 8, companèros.
You can know of the routine here.

So the confession for the day is MADNESS.
That one insane incident that either gives you goosebumps, or makes you roll each time with laughter. Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO]


You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com.
OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box.





Okay, the world now, for sure, knows the kind of enduring madness I ensue. Although my last post had been about dreams, but this one dream is what drives me to madness and fear. Strange dream, though. Sometimes that's all I get. I see an endless flight of steps, leading to light. I keep on descending but it never comes to an end. And I trip at some point, hurting myself, always on my ankle. Waking up with a shock each time and finding  my ankle caught between either cushions or blanket, I always hypothetically found it to be red sometimes. It has always put me in a fit of petrifying fear. Thence, I've always fretted climbing two steps at a time, or descending them quickly, needless of whatever emergency is to follow. Yes, madness. And fear. Blah! 



Wonderful Bhattacharya joined in today. You can read her post here.

The post will be updated late night. You can even have the morning to yourself, if you wish.
Happily going to bed,
Ak.



Sunday, 27 January 2013

What's Your? - Confession Day 7 *UPDATED*

A week! =D
You can check about the routine here.

So the confession for the day is DREAMS. 
EVERYONE has that one fulfilled, unfulfilled dream, or a quest for the same.  Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO]


You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com.
OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box.




Tawang. Switzerland of India. High end waterfalls, all year round snow, limitless tranquility. A place so silent, you almost feel you're touching the sky. That's where I want to be.

The post will be updated late night. You can even have the morning to yourself, if you wish.

On the verge of....oh whatever,
Ak.

Saturday, 26 January 2013

What's Your? - Confession Day 6 *UPDATED*

Cool. So Day 6.
Know about the routine here.

And today's confession is about HATRED. What is it that you hate most, why? Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO]


You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com.
OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box.




Almost all throughout my life.

Hatred, as they say, always has some love wrapped in its ugly folds. Uh-uh. It always has reasons, grudges, and a whole lot of misunderstanding from the opposite side. 
"You can never dance like others."
"You're a girl. You'll be a sucky Guitar player. Don't insult the instrument by playing it, please."
"You are an insult to the entire female race - mend your ways before some shining-armoured-knight cures them for you the hard way."
"You're a boy sans balls. Obviously, you'll never attain the required dressing sense."
"Look at your legs. You think they don't discomfort the eyes of someone looking at them? Polio!"
"Bitch!"
"You were only what I needed in life. Not what I wanted. Look at yourself. Who would?"
"Only a gay would fall in love with you."
"You fucked it up."
"You're a kid. You know nothing about what's out there. You're silly as shit."
"Don't look in the mirror, there's really no point."

"I mean, really? Look at him, AND you. Do you really think he could have really fallen for you?"
"I'm only tolerating her because she does good work."
"I don't get how the hell do they tolerate her?"
SO, people who've tried hurting me, putting me down, tried to prove me inferior - basically tried to fuck my integrity through and through - you can go find some aliens to do that with. Because I have a heart, which beats, strong enough to whoop your ass. I don't care if I'm not beautiful enough for anybody, you wonderfully crazy and mindblowing. The point is that I'm me. And I'm happy with that. So whoever thinks I'm inferior, or undeserving in any way, or might even have eccentricity crisis, can go get a life, rather than concentrating on what I'm doing. 
So I'm happy, and I know it, and I'm clapping my hands. ON YOUR ASS! Bah! Easy ranting shit out.
This felt good.


The post will be updated late night. You can even have the morning to yourself, if you wish.

Too hungry,
Ak.

Friday, 25 January 2013

What's Your? - Confession Day 5 *UPDATED*

Yellow! 
Day 5. You can know about the routine here.

So today's confession is about RAIN. What is your favourite memory of it? Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO]


You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com.
OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box.





"Some people feel the rain,
Others just get wet"
- Bob Marley


Somewhere in 2006.
"Come on. Please. Sirf ek baar."
"I hate the place it's becoming out there. No way."
"Pleeeeaaaassseeeeee? You find it okay to play football in mud, but are uncomfortable to walk in the rain?"
"Arrrggghhh. Woh football hai. Get lost."
"Please?"
"God! Fine."
Goes out. Gets wet.
"Is this making sense to you? Getting wet? I have a shower in my bathroom, you know."
"Shhh. Just wait. Rain's about to stop."
Waits impatiently.
"Now look. Up there."
"Where? I don't see no nothing. Dude, what are you trying to......Woah!"
"I love you."
The conversation in imprinted forever in my memory. That walk in the rain changed everything for me. Nothing more to say. 


The post will be updated late night. You can even have the morning to yourself, if you wish.

Overloaded with work,
Ak.

Thursday, 24 January 2013

What's Your? - Confession Day 4 *UPDATED*

Okay, companèros. Day 4.
You can know about the routine here.

So the day's confession would be about YOUR TEACHER CRUSH. We all have gone through middle and high school having a crush on a teacher. There's either a sweet story, or an embarrassing incident behind it. Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO]


You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com.
OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box.



Somewhere around 2010-2011
*sob sob*
"Akanksha? Why aren't you in class, honey? What's wrong?"
"Nothing, Sir. I might just be PMSing. That's all. I'll get back at it."
"You don't weep when you PMS. Tell me, what's wrong."
And with that started a bond between me and my teacher that as to be for life. I went on and on, about how my life was being sucked at, by two guys for whom I cared the most - my who loved me, and one I loved - and the two who were my best friends. Everything was ripping apart, and it was then that Sir caught hold of my hand, and pulled me out of my blues. He taught me to look beyond things that troubled me, to look for myself, and where I stand. He taught me to be selfish, and to put myself first, so that no one hurts me. He got me through with a subject I dreaded. He shared silly jumpins with me. Taught me leadership and control. Along the way, mentoring me, he turned out to be more than a teacher. Cute to bhai Sir the hi. 
August 2012, First climatology class. 
Gaurav Shorey. COOLEST PROFESSOR EVER! Amazing with students, amazing teacher, rides bike (a bloody bullet!), uses a Macbook too (Bro five!), has a brain of the successor of Einstein's lineage. What's not to like?

Unfortunately, no Climatology in second semester and no Gaurav Sir around in college to take help from or to talk to. Blah!

The post will be updated late night. You can even have the morning to yourself, if you wish.

Sleep-deprived,
Ak.

Wednesday, 23 January 2013

What's Your? - Confession Day 3 *UPDATED*

Wooookay! Day 3! =D
You can know about the routine here.

So today's confession would be about THE PART IN HARRY POTTER WHICH MADE YOU CRY. OKAY. Yeah, fine, I cried at a point too. Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO]


You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com.
OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box.




The post will be updated late night. You can even have the morning to yourself, if you wish.

Almost every night. 
The last few chapters of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows are my silent haven. Every night, I read those last couple of chapters bit by every bit. Without fail - so much, I know it like the back of my hand. Each night, holding the book close, intaking its almost archaic essence with every breath, I remind myself. Remind myself of the heart I still have. Remind myself that my strength can weaken somewhere.
The black stone with its jagged crack running down the center
sat in the two halves of the Snitch. The Resurrection Stone had
cracked down the vertical line representing the Elder Wand. The
triangle and circle representing the Cloak and the stone were still
discernible.
And again Harry understood without having to think. It did
not matter about bringing them back, for he was about to join
them. He was not really fetching them: They were fetching him.
He closed his eyes and turned the stone over in his hand three
times.
He knew it had happened, because he heard slight movements
around him that suggested frail bodies shifting their footing on
the earthly, twig-strewn ground that marked the outer edge of the
forest. He opened his eyes and looked around.
They were neither ghost nor truly flesh, he could see that. They
resembled most closely the Riddle that had escaped from the diary
so long ago, and he had been memory made nearly solid. Less
substantial than living bodies, but much more than ghosts, they
moved toward him, and on each face, there was the same loving
smile.
James was exactly the same height as Harry. He was wearing
the clothes in which he had died, and his hair was untidy and
ruffled, and his glasses were a little lopsided, like Mr. Weasley’s.
Sirius was tall and handsome, and younger by far than Harry
had seen him in life. He loped with an easy grace, his hands in his
pockets and a grin on his face.
Lupin was younger too, and much less shabby, and his hair was
thicker and darker. He looked happy to be back in this familiar
place, scene of so many adolescent wanderings.
Lily’s smile was widest of all. She pushed her long hair back as
she drew close to him, and her green eyes, so like his, searched his
face hungrily, as though she would never be able to look at him
enough.
“You’ve been so brave.”
He could not speak. His eyes feasted on her, and he thought
that he would like to stand and look at her forever, and that would
be enough.
“You are nearly there,” said James. “Very close. We are . . . so
proud of you.”
“Does it hurt?”
The childish question had fallen from Harry’s lips before he
could stop it.
“Dying? Not at all,” said Sirius. “Quicker and easier than
falling asleep.”
“And he will want it to be quick. He wants it over,” said Lupin.
“I didn’t want you to die,” Harry said. These words came
without his volition. “Any of you. I’m sorry—”
He addressed Lupin more than any of them, beseeching him.
“—right after you’d had your son . . . Remus, I’m sorry—”
“I am sorry too,” said Lupin. “Sorry I will never know
him . . . but he will know why I died and I hope he will understand.
I was trying to make a world in which he could live a happier life.”
A chilly breeze that seemed to emanate from the heart of the
forest lifted the hair at Harry’s brow. He knew that they would
not tell him to go, that it would have to be his decision.
“You’ll stay with me?”
“Until the very end,” said James.
“They won’t be able to see you?” asked Harry.
“We are part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.”
Harry looked at his mother.
“Stay close to me,” he said quietly.
And he self off. The dementors’ chill did not overcome him;
he passed through it with his companions, and they acted like
Patronuses to him, and together they marched through the old
trees that grew closely together, their branches tangled, their roots
gnarled and twisted underfoot. Harry clutched the Cloak tightly
around him in the darkness, traveling deeper and deeper into the
forest, with no idea where exactly Voldemort was, but sure that
he would find him. Beside him, making scarcely a sound, walked
James, Sirius, Lupin, and Lily, and their presence was his courage,
and the reason he was about to keep putting one foot in front of
the other.
His body and mind felt oddly disconnected now, his limbs working
without conscious instruction, as if he were passenger, not
driver, in the body he was about to leave. The dead who walked
beside him through the forest were much more real to him now
that the living back at the castle: Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and all
the others were the ones who felt like ghosts as he stumbled and
slipped toward the end of his life, toward Voldemort. . . . 



Wrapped in work, and hunger-struck,
Ak. 

Tuesday, 22 January 2013

What's Your? - Confession Day 2 *UPDATED*

Apologies for the late post. Work has wrapped its tail around me, and is squeezing the life out of me. You can read about it here.

So the topic for today's confession is GIFTS. 
Everyone has that one gift, one incident, one box, one wrapping paper they always store as one sweet memory.
Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO]


You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com.
OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box.




The post will be updated late night. You can even have the morning to yourself, if you wish.

Sometime in 2008.
Valentine's. Day of the doves and the loves. Whatever. Never understood the real crux to it. But two years prior to the year 2008, one guy, just one guy changed the meaning of this day for the rest of my life that was to come. A smooth green, plain sheet wrapped around a small box. Is that what he gifts me after all these years, and after the number of gifts I showered on him today?, I thought. I'd been too impulsive, and too judgemental, till I opened that tiny wrapped-in-green-sheet-tiny-brown-coloured box. It held the most beautiful pendant I'd ever noticed. Knowing my love for Harry Potter, he gifted me my favourite dialogue by Snape saying, "Always." to Dumbledore, enclosed in a silver heart, with a little doe hanging to its side - the same doe that was Lily's patronus charm. It was neatly wrapped in the first introductory page of the last book, Deathly Hallows that had been out a leeeetle while ago only. He isn't around a lot now, but I still have something from him, that made my life, and is going to go with me in my grave. 
Pretty, isn't it? That's the same page he wrapped the pendant in. :')
I'm sorry, companèros, this is a bit personal. 





Apologetic, and tied up,
Ak.

I'll be back with more. 

Monday, 21 January 2013

What's Your? - Confessions Day 1 *UPDATED*

Aaaaaaaaalrighty then! It's DAY ONE. I'll be choosing a topic over which you have to confess something, by whatever you decipher. If you're new to this, you can know the back-story here

So the topic for today's confession issssssss HIDE N' SEEK. 
Everyone has a story in every hide n' seek game they ever played. There's ALWAYS that one time when you come out from the bushes late, and imprint a question mark to everyone's faces. So waaaat eees eeeyyyaaarrrr issstooorryyy? 
Confess it! [FACEBOOK PEOPLE. YOU CAN JOIN IN TOO.]

You can write your confessions on your respective blogs, mail the links for the same at akanksha1293@gmail.com.
OR, if you don't want to reveal your identity, and think your story might embarrass you, no problemó! You can mail your confessions to me, and I, and only I would be witnessing your confessions. They would only be posted on my blog - no identity revealed. I'd be your confession box. 



So you have the entire day before the clock strikes 1 (Yeah, it was cruel of Fairy Godmother to not provide her with enough time to party.). Post it, mail me, post a picture that reveals your story, post a video, a song, a letter snap, call me, text me (Only Facebook friends, that is, the latter two.)- do whatever you want under the sundar neela aasmaan, before it goes to sleep. I shall update this after one, with all of your kickass people's post.

Eager, and waiting,

Ak.

Winters, 2000.
And then? It all changed for him. Like any other boy - yes, boy - I was an active kid too, and happily participated in whatever sport took place each day among this small group of ours, which played in the park behind my old house. It was a Wednesday, hence, a Hide N' Seek day. Time came for the most dumbest guy's "den". Me being me, I chucked hiding in groups to avoid losing the game, and hid in the bushes in the darkest corner. I heard a puppy cry. When I tried peeking through, what I saw was the same guy who was supposed to be finding us, was instead harassing a litter of puppies that had just been born, during which a puppy was hurt, and couldn't get back up. Now me being me, again, I stumbled out of the bushes, throwing my jacket aside, like I'd been wearing a Wonder Woman costume inside. I ran towards him, and pushed him to the ground. I punched, and I punched, and I punched, and then I punched some more, until the poor kid's brow started bleeding. Imagine the terror of my fury in my friends, that NOBODY came out to stop the violence. The next is funny. When I let him up, he held the dogs, kissed them, apologised and ran back home. After that, he never even tried facing me, whatsoever. The punches left a couple of scars, on his face - which was too harsh of me. But then I've always been so proud of my righteousness that it made me overlook the apology that I owed him. So, yeah! I ruined someone's face, and I don't feel really good about it. And so, thereon, I tried reducing the frequency of my fights, lest someone die along the way. 

A dear friend shared a story, who wanted to keep their identity anonymous. So here it is,
I used to sneak out money from my mom's purse when I was a twelve year old. Now don't get me wrong, it's not like she would not lend me a few bucks for whatever reason I wanted to, but weirdly the thrill of stealing was appealing to me. And it was downright stealing. Okay, so as this went on for quite a long time, the thrill kind of went down the chute and I was brimming with guilt. I kind of concluded that 'this was it, it couldn't get any worse'. Bad people steal and I did not want to become a part of the parade. So yeah I kind of swore to myself that I would not do it anymore, the whole thrill had to stop. Like I had to find out other things to do and stuff. I mean the money I stole 10, 20 bucks wasn't the factor. It was the idea of sneaking the notes out, doing something that you're not supposed to, it was all that and more. So the 12 year old me realized, (THANK LORD) If you don't do anything with the money, why bother to waste your precious time stealing it?

Wokaay, then! I'll see you tomorrow, with more. 

Overloaded with work,
Ak :*

What's Your?

Okay, then. Too much monotony in life is persisting. So much that, not even Metal helps. CAN YOU BEAT THAT? METAL ISN'T HELPING! FML. If you guys can look out for any sort of nice music that MAKES SOME BLOODY SENSE. And now that I've discovered that writing helps me stay alive, shoo away the sleep, and gives, well, a productive break form work, I'm going to start a little something. Confession time? Oh, most definitely! 

So, yeah! It's Confessions all the way. For the next thirty days, I'm going to post one confession each day - and probably share the story behind it [This. Is. Optional.]. 
I'm going to confess about any one pre-decided thing, and post. 
And I'd be more than happy if you guys would join in. Yeah. My Facebook friends who follow me, you can do this too. I'll post your confession for the respective day/s [I'd love it if it would be plural] and BAZINGAAAA! It's going to be fun, nostalgic, blah blah, blah blah, blah blah........ Let's not pre-assume?
We'll see things along the course of the way. So will you join? C'mon, c'mon. You know you wan to. Go ahead, accept it. 
STATUTORY WARNING - PEOPLE WITH WEAK HEARTS, SOULS AND WILLS ARE REQUESTED TO STAY AWAY FROM THIS. ONLY ONES WITH BALLS HAVE THE PERMIT TO SHARE. ANY REFERENCE TO ANY DOUCHEBAG YOU WISH TO AIM IS ABSOLUTELY ACCEPTABLE, LEST NO ONE GETS MURDERED. RANTS, EXPERIENCES, INCIDENCES, ETC. ARE REQUIRED. FICTION IS UNACCEPTABLE. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANY PERSON, LIVING OR DEAD, IS NOT TO BE CO-INCIDENTAL. ANY PERSON REFERRED TO HAS TO BE A WALKING-TALKING BODY.  

We start tomorrow. 
Let's. Get. Dangerous.
Okay. 'Nuff of Clint Eastwood-y behaviour. I'm going to chuck my work for once and sleep. Yeah, it's possible. Wooohooo. 
Lots of work this week. So let's just get onto it one at a time? Okay? OKAY? okay.


Sleepy, and...blah. Goodnight!
Ak.

Saturday, 19 January 2013

Enough Never Ends At Enough....

Second blog post in a day. Yay? Woopie much? Not really. Things EVERYWHERE are going pathetic. Shit loads of work, which I don't have any issues with - just that my back hurts like it's been bitten by a rattlesnake. People bugging, teachers ranting, friends ignoring, special ones insulting. I've a ton of work piled up, and I don't really know where to start from. And I've like a week's sleep pending so badly, it's not even funny. It's almost like my eyes are in an Armageddon with sleep. 
Anyhooo, I'll leave. Too much Blogger for a day.

Sleepy, and irritated,
Ak.

Mere Views Kiraye ke hai.

College screws you. Whoever said that you can have fun after school to your heart's extent probably did college through correspondence. Half of the staff thinks of themselves as Marcio Kogan (that man's God!), half is visiting ones and think they're here because we need them - it's like we owe them even the mere sense of our education and they're the only ones who devote to us the least amount of time and also the one who will turn us into Frank Lloyd Wright-s - and this makes no sense to me. It is okay for teachers to be late in class, to be late to send you an e-mail regarding your work, to be late in checking your stuff, but if you are bound to do any of the above, by God, the following stationary Tandav is worth the watch. Favourite dialogue? "Architect ban-na itna aasaan nahi hota. You should be creative. For example, my views are my own." Waah! Mere to kiraye ke hai. Thank you for sharing the secret. But then again there are teachers (Roy Sir, solemn salute) who're ACTUALLY clear in life as to what they want/ed. Needless to say they actually teach. One of my design teachers is being shifted to another section. The fuck is wrong in life. The only good thing about design at the moment is that teacher and she's being exchanged. GRRRRREEEAT! Besides, I love my college. It's the only place where I'm happy. Genuinely. 
People who want to get back at me for not being pleasant-to look-at enough, can move over and jump off a cliff. I don't wish to care in the least as to for what span of time you were in my life. Untrue friendships, and unreasonable people can go take a hike. 



See you around, companèros.
Tener cuidado. :*

Thursday, 17 January 2013

Hey You! Yes, You! You Brought The Twinkle Back in My Eyes....Again

"Remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it."
- Suzanne Collins
I could keep running back to you. What's bound to happen, will; no matter how hard you try to change the course of planets, they'd still be rotating and would still be on their axis. I could literally sit and stare at your beauty for hours, and the beautiful part is that you'll let me. Those scars. They ooze your sensuality, your strength, your determination, your loyalty. The ones that run deep within - I want to trace them with my fingers like on a Braille. So that they narrate their own legend. I like you, at times, and I feel I know you at times, so I'm not going to let go off you, as of now. Of course, one can't measure love by the amount of words exchanged. Unfair, it would be, wouldn't it? We do talk - it's only that we say very little. Your sins? I might hate them, but I can't simply deny that I'm in love with the sinner. I'm more you than myself. Does that mean our souls are comprised similarly? Maybe. I hear them singing the same song. Like the words that you say, the words that belong to your mouth, I belong to you. I know I come with certain pre-conceived notions, some confusions. But I don't sweat. I bleed. So I'll not cover your stench with mine, but surely colour you love. A lot of it. One breath of you, and you lasted in my veins longer than the air I inhaled in my deepest of sleeps. I run high on you, on your flavour, your strength, your sheer magnanimity. Let me break through the mandible of your ribs. The place where you've been hurt - let me reach there, I know I can cure it. Because I want you to change the way you see yourself in the mirror, not how you perceive me. I want to imprint you with me. Let me touch those scars. I can hear them sob. Let me love them, calm them, choose them. I might be insignificant against your magnanimous beauty, but I don't care how altered people think you are. You still are mine. I feel you live between my breaths and heartbeats. Look at me, just. Eyes have a language of their own. Let me rest my head on your heart. I want to hear it beat, or would you stop the beat too for the mere sake of it? I'll be thirsty for you, always. I fell deeper for you while you went away. You might light the fire, but come, I'll teach you its game. It's not your voice, but the melody of it. Not what you contain in that body, but what you do with it. You are a story, a living, breathing story I yearn to complete but just can't. You're my hard truth.
"'After all this time?'
'Always....'"
- J.K. Rowling
 Of course, there's a better life. But I like flaws. Your passion sets me alight. Don't try too hard to listen to your own beats, they might like to be silent at times. You were that light which just went rushing across my darkened path. And I was blinded by it - but it didn't matter, because from then on, my love for you wasn't a because, it became a no matter what. In a parallel universe, everything I say makes sense. You are ordinary in this world of madness. It just makes you extraordinary in your own bloody way. I'm not going to let just one word break my faith in you, after the thousand times you said in your sleep that you loved me. I'm not perfect. And perfection doesn't guarantee purity. Purity is the thought, the intention. Purity is you. I can't live without needing you. You're the dance which replays the music in me when it dies. The moment you left, it was the darkest blasphemy. My anger wasn't my retaliation. It was only my desperation to hold onto you, to have you as mine for a little more longer. Your face, when you walked away, is imprinted in my blood, for life. Of all the beauty I've seen in life, yours is the one I feel.
"'Why are you here? All of you?'
'We never left'"
- J.K. Rowling

Saturday, 12 January 2013

Death

"To a well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure."
- J.K. Rowling
Death. Self-consuming, selfish, sadistic. Enticing, for some. Fear, for others. The murky void, promising to lead you through a tunnel. A tunnel, with white light at the end. Hard journey, it is. 
Death. Some walk bawling toward it, some mute, while some opportunely. It's powerful. Powerful enough to obliterate one's identity - an identity that took an epoch to erect. Powerful enough to expunge bonds - bonds that were spun with devotion. Powerful enough to break one - the one who was always keen on you. 
Death. It heals the same scar it gives you. Heals the heart you so valiantly broke whilst alive. 
Death. It brings you at crossroads again. Crossroads you were fearful to face in life. 
Death. Stare it back in the face, and it'll let you live. Scare it, scar it.
Death. You can die for it, but can't live for it. 
Death. Gloomy, hushed, two-faced. 
"Death is the day worth living for."
- Barbossa