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jiniaa

tellonym.me/jiniaa

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  • jiniaa 1w

    Everyday, I wake up with a feeble smile, tears in my eyes, an ache in my heart and I pray for his healing before mine. Everyday, I take a shower at exactly half past 9 and I play our playlist. My morning routine is all that he left with me. He, his habits and his words. Everyday, I put on washed clothes and rub cologne on my wrists but when I go to bed, I still smell like him. Everyday, I go through cycles of sadness, hurt and grudges but then he pays me a visit at night and I forgive him for the day. Everyday, I try to walk away from him, for me, for him, for us but then the dusk approaches and I, like a timid pigeon, return back to my nest, to him. Everyday, I bake cookies and muffins and try to feed myself, painfully, forcefully. Loving him is so much easier than loving myself. Everyday, I save a share of my muffins for him. Everyday, I try really hard to not caress his polaroids or wear his T-shirts when I go to sleep. Everyday, I fail and everyday, my heart breaks in a different way, in a more painful way. But everyday, I helplessly love him like it is the only thing that I can possibly do.

    ©Jinia

    P. S - your voice is my favourite soundtrack.

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  • jiniaa 1w

    I sat on the floor and sweeped all that was broken and scattered. I moped the marble and greased the jammed doors. I am a set of tangled earphones, knotted, endless and frustrating. Very often, people find me beautiful. They come close, close to me and my chaos and stroke the layers of sadness on my hair, carefully braided with a hairband that holds the pain together and gives me frills that look pretty enough to attract love. Some of them look at my knots and run away before untying them. Others sit with a comb and try to de-tangle the dead locks but abandon me with a comb struck on my hair when they realise that they will fail to ever smoothen the roots.

    My scars run so deep that my skin has fibre made of daggers now. My blood is an ugly shade of green ; green that frightens you like your childhood fear. I cut my skin every time my hair add another knot to the braid. My blood scares me, so much that I wash it off as soon as it drips. Drop by drop, I drain myself of the colours ; pretty and horrendous, alike.

    But one day, you walked in. With magic in your fingertips and love in your comb, you untied the damage. Your frail hands doused a bud of cotton in a tube of medicine and dabbed it on the open wounds. My healing came easy, painless and soothing. You promised me not to give me further knots and scars and all the blood of ugly shades. But here I lay, with the same knots, same scars, same blood and a different pain.

    ©Jinia

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  • jiniaa 1w

    I have written you so many letters that I will never be courageous enough to send you. So many words, so many tears, so many smiles, so much of warmth, everything that I poured in for you can still not be enough to make you understand how much pain I bear on myself with every breath that I take. I start the letter with a "dear" and end with "yours". I don't know if you remember the times that I took vows, silent and heard, to be yours, through sickness and health, through good, bad and ugly, through sadness, joy and nothingness. When I write that I am yours, I mean that I can probably never belong to anybody else but you. How can I? I didn't say those words in vain, my promises weren't meek. You are not a passing thing, 'us' is not a relationship that I can merely forget. I am a beggar on the streets and you are the only door that opens for me on snowing winter nights. I am yours, even if you are not mine.

    Tumhari,
    Jinia

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  • jiniaa 1w

    The next time we meet, I'll bring us a flask of coffee. I have so much to tell you, so much to listen from you. I have to tell you about the songs I slept next to when I couldn't sleep next to you. I have to tell you about the weird memes I read somewhere which none would understand except you and me. I have to tell you about the book I started reading but stopped midway because every page had something that reminded me of you. I have to tell you about the cup of tea I tried because I always kept telling you that I'll never drink tea, no matter what. I have to tell you that you are the art that I practice religiously. I have to listen to you telling me about your random to your everyday. I have to listen to you telling me about the songs that made you cry while you missed me. I want to listen about your misadventures, your dreams, your sadness, your weirdest happiness.
    But you know how it'll be, right? It will break our hearts again. Hope will take birth in our hearts and we will have to butcher it yet again. We'll hold hands, we'll share an earphone and replay our playlist that has been abandoned for so long, we'll cry, we'll embrace each other, only to realise that the night is approaching and we need to depart. I will sing you a goodbye and you'll tell me not to bring the word of goodbye on my tongue. We'll know how much we love each other but we'll also know that we are only going to break each other's heart. Again and again like a crass cassette that we can't stop listening to. We'll be homesick for a home that doesn't exist, for the lips that we never kissed.

    Tumhari, Jinia.

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  • jiniaa 1w

    After losing you, I came face to face with the pain poets wrote about for aeons. After losing you, I realised how difficult it is to hold my poise infront of the world while something inside my ribcage was breaking, little by little. After losing you, I learnt that songs can be a sweet poison too. After losing you, the reality hit me ; that we had so much to do but nothing will be done thereafter ; that I hadn't told you enough times how much I loved you, how hopelessly, terribly, childishly I was in love with you ; that I hadn't let you know enough times that your existence will seldom ever be unnoticed by the people around you ; that I was so much beyond proud of you for making cotton candies out of the clouds of darkness hung on you like an albatross ; that people like you are too pure for this world, too kind, too much of very extremity ; that living a life without you is only merely surviving ; that you were more than just a title, a tag to me. No you aren't an ex, you are the very essence of my life. You are the embodiment of everything that is dear to me. After losing you, I realised how many opportunities I had slipped out about letting you know that you were my whole universe, that everything around me and within me is made up of your debt.
    After losing you, I forgot how my smile looked like, how I walked or talked before you happened to me.
    After losing you, I realised that whole world is farce and a motel and the only place closest to home for me is you.

    I could never tell you but do you know that you are my genre?

    ©Jinia

    P. S - I am over-writing today because my emotions are unstable, very unstable at this instant. Pardon me.

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  • jiniaa 1w

    I once stood on the top of a mountain cliff and thought that it is the most beautiful thing to ever have happened to me. But then, you happened to my life and everything changed. Sharing sorrows and happiness, indifferent things to secrets that I never dared to speak of otherwise, I fell in love with you. It was easy and it was beautiful like nothing else. Loving you came very easy. How can anyone not love you ; you, with your childish smile, innocent eyes and the purest heart? It's not a mortal possibility to not love you or to ever stop loving you. You became the solo wish upon each falling star that I witnessed. You became the most precious, fragile thing to have ever resided in my heart. Talking to you at 3 am, head under the blankets despite the hot summer nights, texting you with the brightness of my phone on the lowest so that I don't get caught, slowly, perfectly, I fell in love with you.
    And now I don't know what should I do with all this love gurgling inside me and you not being here to share it with me.
    I don't know what do I do with my hands now that I can't surrender them in your hands. I don't what do I do with my skin, now that you aren't here to caress it.
    So I close my eyes and relive us. Again and again and again like a song on loop that I cannot get enough of. Nightmares are not scary when I hold my pillow tight believing it to be you.

    //This is how you fall in love
    Let go and I'll hold you up
    So pull me tight and close your eyes
    Oh, my love, side to side//

    ©Jinia

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  • jiniaa 1w

    Standing at the curb, running my hands callously over his tired face, realising that this is probably the last time that I get to touch him, that this is probably the last day of me standing infront of him and calling out his name at the top of my voice, that this is probably the last moment of him in his entirety with me, that tomorrow he will become a poem written with a quill dipped in my tears. They say that pain becomes art but no one tells you that it still hurts. While I stood there, I realised that he will be living, breathing, surviving and existing, all without me, all on his own. I realised that I had to hand him over his heart back to him and that I needed to ask him to return mine to me. While hours will turn to days, days will turn to months and months will turn into years, I know that my heart will always want to break the boundaries and restrictions and fly back to him. While listening to every song, while walking through the streets, while being lost in a crowd of hearts, my eyes will always search for him and the moment I find a familiar remnant, I will breakdown. I know, I know how much pain I endured upon him and vice versa. I know that this wasn't meant to be but why did life let this happen to us then? Why are we cursed to love the one who cannot stay? Why are all the ligaments and tendons in my body screaming to hold his face in my palms for another eternity?
    Tomorrow, when I will write down you as a poem, remember that I am sending you all the lights that will guide you home and that I won't be your home any longer. And however far life brings me away from you, you will be the thought that will keep me going, that will keeping me alive, sane and happy.
    Set all my memories ablaze, burn everything we had. Love was never as pleasant as it is sad.

    //my eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears. You are my home, do you understand? //

    ©Jinia

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  • jiniaa 1w

    Sometimes, destiny is too cruel with its intentions. Other times, Cupid takes a special interest in your story. Most of the times, love drifts away. And love takes away some trivial things from you, leaving behind gigantic imprints. Love for me is watching him from across the street, playing cricket with his younger cousins and losing a wicket willingly to make them happy. Love for me is praying for his safety and success at each crucial point of his life when he is hurdled close to confusion, grief and responsibilities. Love for me is smiling at his messy room and the unused guitar laying in a corner, just like the neatly tucked dreams of him that he stopped reaching out for. Love for me is never being able to love another face, another beard, another head with hair as soft as a baby's. Love for me is letting him have all the joy and happiness of my part. Love for me is to let him go because he deserves so much more than me. Love for me is sitting alone in my closed room and dabbing ointment on the wounds he left in my heart ; love for me is loving the scars which those wounds made. Love for me is another human being. Love for me is giving up twice my world for that one smile on his pious face.

    // I have found a natural drug for all of my panic, anxiety and anger. It's his voice, it's him. And I dare you to find another who loves him like I do. //

    ©Jinia

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  • jiniaa 1w

    I found a shelter in you. Like a refugee looking for rags to wrap himself in and twigs to feed an empty stomach. I found so much rapture concentrated in a single being, when I found you. I found my own sun to sprinkle sunshine on the perished garden of mine. I found my moon to gaze at, to turn to when the world smothered salt on my fresh wounds. I found my healing, my medicine that didn't taste bitter, for a change after a long period of waiting and losing hope. I found a confidante, to share my trauma to my guilty pleasures ; a friend who was always the better one amid you and me. I found my everything bottled up in a human body which I loved so much that I would crawl on the fire to keep him safe.
    I found a love that I wanted to grow old with, share the stories of my pimples to my wrinkles.
    When I sit beside a window on a freezing cold winter morning, with a cup of coffee that always reminds me how much you adored this beverage, I draw the initials of your name on the foggy window. When I sit beside the same window on a scorching hot day, the sweat trickling down my face and the slight sun burn on my skin reminds me of the tan lines on your face, running from below your left eye to your right eye.
    When I think of you today, I think of a lot more things. You made me feel things that I was never capable to feeling. You brought changes in me that wouldn't have happened, hadn't you been a part of my life. When I think of you, I close my eyes and almost feel your soft fingertips grazing my wet eyelashes ; I can't think of you without my tears squealing how much I miss you. When I think of you, I wish to freeze the time and let the winds carry me back to you, to the shawl that rescued me of the frostbite. When I think of you, I wish to dissolve into the time passing by so that I wouldn't need to breathe the air that you didn't breathe. When I think of you, I crave to turn you into a song that I could play on a loop until I was driven away from my sanity.
    " आज जाने की ज़िद न करो " I can hear myself pleading the drenched pillow every alternate night.

    "Hold me, once, twice, thrice. Hold me till your arms go numb" I whisper to you smiling and disappearing into the mist in every nightmare that wakes me up, grasping for air.

    No, I don't ever wish to see you bear the pain that I adorn like a tattoo on my heart. No, I don't believe the people who tell me that I'd find someone else and just be fine. They don't know what it feels like to love someone more than the possible limits.
    You'll remain within me. You'll live inside my body. You can stay in me, you shall. You will be reflected in each genuine smile of mine, the one that revert the sorrows of living a life without you. Not today, not in this life but perhaps in a life beyond our understanding, you will love me twice more than I love you.

    Missing you comes in waves and tonight I am drowning.

    ©Jinia

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  • jiniaa 1w

    "I feel you." No Karen, you don't.

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    People with privileges can never understand tragedies. To them, suffering is plastered with "It's going to be fine" and sorrows are "love yourself". They project a "i'm so proud of you" on the face of your adversity and very easily say "don't pay heed" to your agonies.
    ©jiniaa

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