I am a novice lover. I don't have an idea of love. .
But I'm a person who will watch the sun set with you and stay up till sun rise. Forever I can stare in those mesmerizing eyes. . .
I know that forever is made of nows, So for now, lemme be in another world. The utopia, which we shall weave, bit by bit, Thread by thread. By spending sun rises and sun sets in each others warmth. . Life is bawling. I want silence, silence like that of the bank of tranquil river. . .
Life is freezing. I want warmth, Warmth like that of the new born child cuddling close to his mother's breast. . .
Life is stygian. I want light, Light like that of the sunflower moving carelessly desperate for sunlight. . .
Life is swift. Gimme rest. Rest like that of a bird coming to her nest after a tremendously long day. . .
Be my river, my mom, my sunlight, my nest. Be my everything that I need, to be alive. And I be everything that keeps you lively and lovely. . .
I accept that I love earth a little less and sky a little more. That I love beaches a little less, and mountains a little more. That I hate this incomplete me, But I love the complete us. . .
I am a novice lover. I don't care about the idea of love. But I care enough about me, About you, About us.
There is a fragile heart, carrying the burden of long grey sleepless nights of a soul that is unsatisfied.
There exists delusion about the love you shared, delusion of their presence. THEY ARE THE DELUSION. We take years and years and years to overcome such fear.
One thing that remains unchanged is the way those insignificant things tamed our lifestyle, which are now lost in past and were deeply embedded in our relationship.
Nutella still finds a place in top shelf of right corner, as mischievously she kept it there. The alarm rings sharp at "6 AM" because nature welcomes fresh air and you can't miss jogging, just like him.
Or for that matter maybe you order the same dessert when you go to the Restaurant.
//It has always been a story of a fragile heart, tamed to be in delusion of the mischief that love plays. //
Slowly and gradually I submerge myself into the bathtub of solitude. The water is as cold as my hands, And my heart. .
By now I'm into it till my knees. I feel every tile screaming for escape while I close the door. Every water droplet screams, crying for justice. .
And now as I bend to take a seat. Every half grown hair on my legs want to be free. Those shampoos and soaps come close to me. I feel them breathe, and whisper, "I grow more jaded towards my identity." .
Now, I'm into the tub. My body submerged. And I gaze at my left hand, full of bruise. Recovering slowly. And I gaze at my right hand bleeding profusely. .
There are cuts all over my body. My face has been torn my thorns. But I feel no pain. I watch the water in bath tub turn red. .
I get up, dry myself up, cover my bruises, And watch the world from my window. Maintaining distance and yet being aware about it all. . . //A numb body, with a cold heart.//
I was already in love with Apeksha, despite promising that, "We'll never fall in love. This is just a casual fling and will remain one." That was devastating. .
After months of looking for a hookup partner, I found Apeksha's profile most suitable on Tinder. We dated for about 7 months or so. She was rigid on her thoughts about not falling in love with her hookup partner. .
But I couldn't resist much. That bought all the tragedy. The day I confessed my feelings was the worst of all. .
Holding my hand for the last time, she said, "Dating each other was a mutual decision, but separation is going to me my own, to avoid more devastating consequences. Having sex with you every now and then never implied that I feel for you." .
She asked me to go back to my apartment, and as I was walking down the stairs, a voice stopped me from my back, "Aditya, just wanted to say a good bye, and always stay in touch." .
Well now that's the worst part anyone could ask for. But, I barely do anything except nodding my head, and collecting ten thousand memories with that last hug, on the staircase. .
It is true, "Casual Flings also come with a promise, A promise to never fall in love."
Women are a piece of art. Their body, their soul, has to be pure, Isn't it sweetheart? My poem is also a piece of art, Trying to reconcile the broken piece of me that have fallen apart. . .
i) If my poem were a woman, it would have struggled to get an hourglass figure, Struggled to make her butt and breasts bigger. . .
ii) My poem would have tried hard to hide, Hide her insecurities, her fears, her grief. Ahh! Hide her dark rhymes and verses just like women hide their bra strap. . .
iii) That Terrible monthly cycle would have troubled my poem too. Shedding tears of blood and agony. Filling up the room, darkening my heart. Restrained from entering the literature room. . .
iv) Racism would have haunted my poem. That feeling of suffocation, would have made it a choice to live or to die. Searching for the last hope to breathe. . .
v) My poem would have been questioned every now and then, and barred at times to apply make up. It was never good to look beautiful. I was never asked to cover my dark spots with metaphors, it's existence would have been questioned when it would have brushed her cheeks with highlighter like simlies. . .
vi) Rapes would have threatened it, to move out at night, without copyright. Plagiarism is no less than a rape to the poem. . .
vii) If my poem were a woman, it would have been a woman like me. Like all of us, standing by each other's side. Following the path being gender neutral. . .
~This is a love story that died long ago but is still breathing on hope.~
Hi. Let me tell you, it's a love story which began two years back. I met you through someone, I came and I had fallen for you in just a few months. I had fallen for you because you brought out the best of me, you made me a better person, you encouraged me to do better, you supported me everytime. When I had no one you were there for me, offering me your love and shoulder. I spilled out the shit, the toxic and depressed shit from my head and heart to you, and you heard it patiently, you handled me at the time when I needed you the most. You never judged me neither you found any reason to get away from me. Slowly, slowly you became my friend and then like all other stories, I fell in love with you, a little too much, a little harder. You were my true bliss, my place of peace, my secret holder, my shit keeper, my friend and my favourite place to go. I spent almost my whole day with you. You gave me a chance to know some really good people, you gifted me some friends who always support me. (This is to you guys). You became so dear to me, honestly. I loved you, in real.
"And then gradually you changed." Why this has to happen in every story, why can't it go smooth and rosey. My love story turned into a heartbreak. I fell for you and you broke my heart, you broke my heart into pieces. I know, things don't always stay the same, but this wasn't the plan, this wasn't expected, this wasn't the way I wanted to let go of all the love and everything I got. I don't know what is the reason but whatever it is, it is not all making me feel good. I feel unappreciated and demotivated. I feel it's all fake, you are biased, you are doing it on purpose. I feel you don't want me to write anymore. I feel you don't love me anymore. I feel you are tired of my shit. I feel useless.
I come here and I don't feel the same as I felt before. Earlier I used to spent my whole day here but now I had to gather my strength to step in here. Because, I don't have the strength to bear the changed you, I have to come because neither I can leave you. Yes, I can't leave you, I can't leave you because I don't leave anyone so easily, I give them chances, endless chances because I just can't let it all go in vain, I fear letting the story turn into ashes, I fear telling 'It was for nothing' and I fear because I love you now too.
I can't leave you because I cannot waste all that in a click, I cannot make it nothing, I cannot turn it into ashes.They say, "Love needs Patience". So, I'll try to stay patiently in a hope that you'll be the same, once again. I'll stay as long as possible.
I am in pieces again, will you mend me again? Will you save me, but this time from you only.
I am tired of pulling and piecing myself back together. I know not a single soul can save me, I know my sadness must battle my own strength; but there are days I feel too weak. Days I feel brittle to the bone, my mind a mess of blood and bruises. But these cries of mine fall onto deaf ears, not a sound for anyone to hear. It is so lonely to be this blue, so quiet when you listen to the own break of your heart, so scary to face something this dark.