And if suddenly and unexpectedly you find yourself unworthy, walk down forgotten streets let your cold hands remain in empty pockets that still filled with warmth, maybe you could manage a smile.
Search your back pockets, while you're at it a crumpled note like a memory, lying in wait, behind your wallet a kid wanting to buy the world a teenage love eyeing a gift a dream, all lived, maybe you could spend that money, this once.
Perhaps, what you had once treasured felt like a sack of pebbles pulling you down you've let many things fall through the holes you made in them maybe you could store something of value, now.
And maybe you'd find yourself again, in those pockets.
When I was a little boy, I wasn't afraid of monsters. In fact, I believed I had a small, blind, blob-like monster lurking under my bed, waiting to devour me. This idea helped me through many nights, because knowing where the fear is helps us fight right. However, I was afraid of people who'd say they'd stay, but then leave in the middle of the nights. They are the real monsters. The leaving kind. They come. They love. They hurt. They leave. It doesn't matter who we were before their arrival, and what we do after we lock our doors once they are gone.
We are but victims of love, who survived. Love can do that, it'll give us swords in our hands, put armors on our bodies, but it'll make us lose our battles to rosemallows and raindrops. It is monstrous, but also charming, and beautiful. It will make us sacrifice our nights, it will make our armpits smell better, and it will make us to look up for a deluxe restaurant with amazing reviews.
I have seen myself loving people to the point where I have exhausted love in me; that is not a good thing. Love shouldn't exhaust us. Neither should it make us exhaust ourselves. Period. But, when it does, it is on us to get ourselves back to where we want to be, to recharge love in us back to full.
The past two years have been that journey for me. I was healing. I still am. Unlike many things, healing is not a stage in a process. It is the process. Taking a long hot shower, sleeping on the floor to get yourself grounded, and hiding under your covers so the darkness won't notice your tears are the stages we crossed to heal. I have done them all, and I am finding ways to put myself back on that track which will heal and lead me home. Because, I am lost. I've always felt lost: in my body; in my mind; in my words. And, there is no one but me who can find me. Writing is that way for me of going back without getting lost, and healing without acknowledging the cold fact that I am sore and hurt.
Maybe, you are lost, too, or maybe, you know someone who is lost. But, we are not different. Love, like summer, is same for all. You don't feel the hot any different than I do, if we both choose to stand naked under the sun.
So, it is only human to let people heal at their pace, and to let people find themselves back, in their choices, however silly it may seem. I chose The Love Monster way; it is my book.
I only see people write about love, like it is a magical thing. Although, it is in some places, it is brutal and animal in some, and chaotic and complexly confusing in the rest. So, why just decorate love? Why not write love in its naked, animal, and rawest form? Whatever that maybe?
I took inspiration from every person I loved, everything I loved, and every memory I could find marked as love to chronicle The Love Monster. I use the term chronicle in its loosest meaning, but you'll get me.
It was an emotional rollercoaster ride for me, the writing, and I hope reading this book would give you the same feeling. The book has come out beautifully, in some pages, and amusingly dark in some, but everything you read will jump out at you and pull you into the shoes I wrote it with. Believe me, it will test your emotions. In a good way. Um, I hope.
I published the book as an ebook, for now, and it is only available on Kindle Store, but I hope I'll publish a paperback, soon. You can grab a copy with the link on my profile, or visit Kindle Store, and look up for "The Love Monster by Nandha Kriskar". Thank you, and I hope I sold you on my pitch. Ha ha, until then.
No captions. No tags. Take it or leave it. And yes. I do this on hopes of getting likes and reposts coz it's hard for real imagining people these days. Hard days for real artists- seeing as how most tend to get a lil corrupted. I want recognition but I don't need it really.
Hey. See what I did there? I began with "No captions". Tch tch. Lmao. Such a hypocrite smh. :')
King for a Day. All the Pawns would play. Shape and stature, White or black lacquer? What does it matter, if you strut so dapper?
Take this moment by the horns Wearing that crown of gilded thorns. Slide along this board of squares, Woven hues of contrasted colors so paired. Should you dare take the Queen from her lair? Perhaps one of us shall become the next heir!
Flaunting out our fantasies as us with blunt-faced heads. Consider our each move, watch out to where you tread. Others are watching and anticipate, The big hand comes down to orchestrate. Play out this parade, as such is our charade, make a move and act with haste.
As any Chessman knows, from mere Pawns to the noble Knights. We can't stay too long; never in the same place. When the voice from above shouts out loud; it's over and out right then, back to the box once again, when you hear the final shout, "Checkmate".