Connection is key, vulnerability is bravery, and an open heart breaks down closed souls. We only get one shot at this life, this moment, and this relationship. If you’re blessed enough to find yourself waking up next to the same love over and over and over again, please don’t think of it as blandness. Choose blessedness. . Appreciate her. . When you enter a room, let others notice that you notice her first. When you walk next to her, stop and kiss her neck for no good reason other than the fact that she is by your side. When she gets dressed in the morning, smile and appreciate that women are sexier getting dressed than they are getting undressed. . Respect her boundaries, but break down her walls. Crush her fears and free her mind. She’s yours, and it’s up to you to be hers. Be the hero she’s always wanted but never knew she needed. . Be a brazen inspiration. Be a bold revelation. Be a novel innovation. Earn her every day and appreciate her every night. Give her your heart and defend hers at all costs. Be a warrior for love armed with a quiver full of fervor, and love will forever follow you into the hunt.
Dear Love, . I don't really know how to say this or where to begin, but let me start off by saying that I know nothing could ever blossom between us. I am almost 100% positive that you will never see or even know about this letter. We have not known each other for a long time, about a year at most. But I do know this; I have feelings for you. Whether they be of infatuation or of actual love, I know not. What I do know for certain is that you are kind, beautiful and one of the most fantastic people I have ever known. You are precious to me and I couldn't bear to see you hurt. I'd just about lose my mind. . Maybe after college we'll drift apart, talk less, and maybe never see each other again. But I need to get this off my chest. You are so surreal that every moment I spend with you makes me wonder if I'm dreaming. Maybe I'm in some fantasy land living out my wildest dreams. Maybe I'm daydreaming of things I long for, but that could never be. Maybe, just maybe, I'm not dreaming at all and this is all real. I don't know what it what anymore, when I'm around you I just lose my train of thought. . Now, I know that you do not feel the same. I mean how could someone like you fall for someone like me? It's not unheard of, sure, but I know better than to go on thinking that way. Maybe I'll find someone else to pine over and love(though would never do that), and maybe this is all just in my head. So perhaps this is just my heart testing my abilities, seeing how I could preform when I'm head over heels for someone. If that's the case, then I'm glad it was you who made me feel this way. . I know you and I haven't had much time to really connect and get to know each other, and I know that if we got together it wouldn't be for long. I accept that, even embrace it. Hell, just spending time with you is something I look forward to. Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure. You are wonderful, and talented and kind. I know you're going to make one man really happy one day. So here's to you my dear. I love you. . Sincerely, . Your Secret Admirer
Certain human emotions are so strong that they possess the capability to drive a human mind towards only one person at a time, like a point and shoot camera. The background isn't overshadowed by the sound of violins but the pulsating sound of your heart beating against your chest while your pupil dilates and your heart races against the mind which urges you to stop. For a brief moment, the heart overcomes the mind and does what we generally do but in an extraordinary manner. People embrace. The energy that is produced when the two bodies meet is what binds the two different people together. Such an energy fails to hold a definite explanation because it is subjective to every individual and is influenced by everyone's personal experience. . Of all the wonders in the world, I wonder how special can it be when two people wrap their arms around each other and embrace that they tend to call it 'a world of their own'? . I did not understand the very importance of this gesture until love decided to meet me in my journey of life. I held her hand like I did of life and I expected it to be just bumpy but never too harsh for me. Is it our skin that's naked or it's the only clothing we truly wear? Is it our flesh that keeps us alive, the heart that not only regulates blood but life into our veins or is it just a mechanism of a whole different machinery of a human body? . Of all the logics and theories, I still fail to decipher the code of a human hug. . Perhaps a hug remains an unfathomable human emotion, the one that lacks decoding and description, an emotion that remains distinct as one's faith. A hug remains the relief a lost sailor feels after seeing a small sight of the shore. Perhaps it is the calm in his arms that gives the uneasiness of my soul a pinch of tranquillity I never knew I desired so much. It becomes the home for the astray heart I carried all this while buried in my chest that has now come to life. . A hug... a hug remains more than just an embrace. It is the act of worshipping the flawless shortcoming of a perfectly constructed human being- the emotion of love by another act of love. A hug, is after all, a hug.
To the girl who feels like love, . I don’t know if at all someday, somewhere, sometime, someone will hold your hand in the snowfall and look into your eyes to tell you, “Khoobsurat hai har vo lamha, jinme teri muskurahat khil khilati hai.” . Cheesy? Sorry, but that’s how it works. I remember this one time when my sister was crying in the shower. I ask her what happened and she says, “You can’t make people love you back but you can’t stop loving them at the same time” and I just couldn’t do much but sit beside her and think of you. . I feel like telling you how madly I want to hug you and whisper in your ears all those songs you love. The clock in my bedroom sometimes chimes, and it’s almost unavoidable to hear your name in it. . I’m a broken man, who counts stars sitting alone on the roof, and just wants the night to stay a little longer for I fear seeing a morning with this hollow chest that can’t feel the warmth of sunshine. But, somehow, when I see you smile with the curves of your lips forming soft wrinkles around your eyes, I just feel a tinge of completion around me. . And then, here’s where all of it ends. After everything that’s said and done, I’m not the home that can shelter your gorgeous heart. . But, I just want to tell you, for once, I want to hold you in my arms and believe that I’m still allowed to be loved. . If at all someday you read this, just know that I can’t bring you the moon, but I’ll show you a mirror, ask you to smile and that’s where my moon lives. That’s where it always will be. . Love Ronak
This is to the past me; . Have you finally figured out, that what you’ve once thought was your dream job was a lie? Have you finally admitted to yourself, that staying up all night for good grades led to eventually finding yourself working under another person? You’ve given so much of your time to figure out complex problems on paper. And yet, you can’t seem to piece why you’re sitting by the fax machine, even with the PhD hanging on your bedroom wall. . You were so determined; you were made of routines, late nights spent with caffeine running in your blood in lieu of alcohol. You were okay with that, you knew you’d end up somewhere far better than your friends who were crazy about frat parties. You studied for good grades. You were taught good grades means good career. But no one ever told you, will good grades fill the void? . You were carving your identity; little did you know that you were losing yourself piece by piece. Everything that made you, you collapsed when you left everything you loved. All the achievements were just additions to your superficial self-esteem. But you didn’t know better. And that’s okay. . This is to the present me; . Could you build a life out of what you love? It seemed so absurd once, you’d laugh at the idea of it, and then brush it away. . Now that you’re alone in your apartment, after a day’s work of typing jargon on a computer, your paintbrushes call you. The ones you’ve left untouched after 9th grade. You’re drawn towards it. And yet, when you hold it, it doesn’t feel the same. . To the future me; . As you are standing at the gallery, hosting your first ever art show; Are you beaming the same way you did when you won your first art competition as a twelve-year-old?
To The Uninvited Creative Block, . Twenty-six letters in the alphabet of the language I prefer to write in, over a billion permutation-combinations of words and yet each of them fails me as I begin to express your uncanny presence that hovers on my shoulder, like the ghost of past life. . It’s not fair, you know. Your clenched fists tapping on my wooden door in the middle of an August night brimming my brain with relentless thoughts, forcing me to declare myself as an insomniac on social media; the next day as the sun rises, every single thought that I had planned to pen down elopes me, as you lock them into quarantine. . Over everything, the restlessness that tags along you is insane. To avoid the chaos, I shut myself inside my room whacking my brain for some words who tell a story, who narrate an anecdote, who rhymes in the end and breaks the stereotype; the words who make hearts melt, stomachs churn and lips curve into an ecstatic smile. You quietly enter the room, sit right next to me, hold my hand and block my thoughts and expressions; almost as if forcing me not to write. . Okay, look, here’s the thing. I have enough at war within myself and I absolutely cannot afford to assemble an army of all the times I wanted to write something but instead, I had to steal glances at your calm victorious face. And the worst part is that you precisely come on the days when I have important drafts to work on. . Also, I don't mean to be rude, but one way or the other, you do end up clogging all my productivity. . Yes, yes, I know. You only come to regulate my usage of words — especially when I go overboard with metaphors and hyperboles. But understand this, that writing is the only way I know which helps me feel lighter and human. Besides, the last time you came, you ended up staying for a little over three months. I was lost and confused — drowning in the pool of my own insecurities, questioning my abilities as a writer. . So the next time you come with your power to slit my words before they leave my throat, at least do not overstay your welcome, I implore. . Regards, Another fellow writer.
Do you want to grab lunch?" . She stopped still. He turned to look at her for an answer. She felt guilt spread over her like a dam just opened. "After everything I said?" She looked at him stricken. . "You were angry, it's fine." . "No. It's not." She said firmly. "You shouldn't forgive someone just because they are angry. They should be held accountable for what they say. I shouldn't be allowed to just come up and say anything to you knowing, you'll forgive me later. That's in no way fair to you." . "What if I want it this way." . "I don't understand." . "What if I want you to be able to come and say anything to me knowing you will always be able to come back?" . She stood dumbstruck. . "I don't want to be someone you need to tiptoe around. I want to be someone you can vent on, even if it is about me. If I'm wrong I'm wrong, what gives me the right to hurt you and not be willing to face the repercussions?" . "But this wasn't your fault." . "I know that. And this is what I want, for you to be able to vent on me, even if it's about someone else. I don't ever want to be left in the dark again. Dear, I can't hear your thoughts, I don't know what you're thinking. This is the one way I can." . "You're... you're serious." . "Beyond anything." . He looked at her for a while. "So how about lunch?"
I've been an ambivert, always. Being awkward during small talks but being able to talk on for hours during deep conversations is totally my thing. . I am old-school very rarely do I dress up for an occasion because most of the time I am comfortable wearing what feels good. Because how you feel about yourself is much more important than what others feel about you, that's what I believe. I can't fake things, no matter what they are. . If I like something I'll let you know, if I don't like something I'll let you know that too. Also, if you hate something about me, I'd any day appreciate you coming to me and telling me straight up instead of doing it any other way. . I can't go around saying I love you to the moon and back when really, I don't give a shit. And if I do, I believe, I don't need to say how far and wide I love you, you'll just know. I love deep conversations, authentic people, poetry and music that holds meaning. . DJ's and drinks aren't my kind of thing no matter how much 'cool' people think it may be. I prefer an outing amidst mountains or on an ocean shore. Because everything there feels real and fresh. . I've been blessed to have people around me who understand this. But, for the ones who don't, it worries me sometimes. . Maybe I'm old school and a misfit. Maybe I'm weird and uncool, but I love it this way. And to all people out there who are like me, learn to love yourself and stay just the way you are. Take pride in being real and natural. Take pride in the fact that you chose to stay true to yourself even after all the fakeness around. Feel blessed because you can find beauty in the everything that is actually beautiful. Take pride, because you are rare, and the world desperately needs more people like you. . An old school boy, trying to find everything that is real.
Remember those days when You'd send me a text and say hello, You'd say come over Right Now! And I would just drop everything and go. . In those years hanging out with you, I learnt what fun was, When you'd tell your crappy jokes, And I'd be the one laughing till it hurt. . I would run up the stairs, taking them two at a time, Because I'd always want the troubles to be over, You'd come at your own slow pace, No hurry burdening your shoulder. . We'd sit on the edge of high up rocks, Where the valley was made of clouds, You'd play melodies on your guitar, And I'd fill up any silences by singing out loud. . And I remember our promises, Made on late drunken nights "We'll always stay by each other" "Cross my heart and hope to die." . You'd tell me "there is no God, Only the things that we do." And I'd ask "what when it falls apart? How do you get through?" . You laughed off my question, And I guess I let it go too soon, You could have lent me the secret you know, But I guess you didn't know I was doomed. . Now I miss it I miss it so bad, The life I lived before you had to go, I remember you reminding me at your bedside, I still have life left to live, my work left to show. . So now I take all that you were, And carry it around in a song, I know you didn't believe in god, But I thank him every day for you, even though he's the reason you are gone. . I still have your old guitar, I learned how to play all the notes, Somedays, I can almost feel you beside me, As if just waiting to shout, "Look I found an invisibility cloak." . Time flies and I grow older still, Your memories become softer, But I'll go on and carry you in my heart, Your love and our laughter. . And even though so much time has passed, You meant it when you made that promise, And now I've realized what you truly were, You were nothing short of magic!
You are so full of curiosity, yet a brilliant thinker.
you really liked talking about a thousand things from the rational matters to the most ambiguous ones that exists in this universe.
and just like that, the way you think and who you truly are is alike; there are also a thousand things so beautiful about you.
a whole lifetime will never be enough to tell the story of all the wonders you hold, and how beautiful you are in every way possible.
Being fair, black and brown You don't care about them It doesn't take you down You are not contagious You stay courageous You just want to bask under The shining sun!
Color doesn't define you Remarks doesn't contain you You want to fly high In the crystal clear sky Want to Catch butterflies And glow like a firefly!
Who says you're not beautiful Who doesn't tell it Is just a fool Rainbow isn't complete Without the seven colors What if youcompete with it As you are multicolored?!
Monotony is not the norm Isn't it ?! Nowadays. You come in different forms It's okay if you don't transform Even if you stay the same You will be a living example For those who think That it's an end game!
Look at you now Beautifully covered in art You don't need to cover up anymore You are beautiful just the way you are!
I am wearing pain on my slumped shoulders for a long time now.The cracking of bones and the red lines in my eyes set my heart on fire everyday yet I survive the night with few nightmares and with few mugs of sweat.Do you remember how i woke up last week?? You don't and no one ever will.Do you remember how i slept in balcony afraid the voices in my head will leave me after the voices this city supports will come to my rescue.The loud horns and the laughter of the kids playing the late night cricket will push the voices in my head to a far away place where the voices were planning to take me to.I had this dream of laughing whenever I want to and cry as loudly as I want even if it means I am standing in between 100000's of strangers.I want to scream,I want to breath and I want to live like other's do and I want to sleep without someone's permission atleast not of the voices that suppressed my laughter and intensified the volume of crying.I am familiar with nightmares and dreams don't count me in as their family.
I have this craving of getting drowned in someon's arms and snuggle into the warmth till nothing of me was left to save.I danced yesterday like I won't see the other day amongst the crowd that don't have the fucking power to judge me. I realised what peace felt like.The voices in my head tried mingling up with the sweaty bodies and blaring loudspeakers but failed as they refused to take the voices in so the voices slept for hours and I let the voices in the crowd to takeover the last ounce of hope of I deserve everything with it.My feet trembled with the pressure I was exerting on it and my palms turned sweaty with the nervousness of how the eyes in the darkness started to scrutinize the dress I wore,The mascara running down along with tears reaching till my chin and then dripping down on the floor.I looked down just like I always do and then running away from the crowd to the place where no human has the power to judge the messed me.To the four walls that have hidden the scars under the crumpled bed sheets and the poems that can ruin anyone's night but not mine because no one can ruin the already ruined soul. Nothing.
No one can accept the darkness that I wear on my skin, No one can accept the nights where I go crazy to the level i feel that I am done with everything and anything will be destroyed if tried coming my way to save me because I couldn't be saved.I don't want to be saved.No one can accept a ruined soul because no one understands to what level it pains when everyone closes the door on your fucking face. You don't have anywhere to go because you are meant to be homeless!! Homeless.