i created a mixtape for you. a mixtape of songs that reminds me of you. a mixtape that takes me back to the times when we were together. a mixtape that has fond memories of me and you. a mixtape that i play for endless hours. a mixtape that has songs which holds you. a mixtape which is better than any photograph. a mixtape of songs with vivid pictures.
maybe just maybe it's a different heaven to lie and listen to it. a different peace. a different happiness. a different happy pill. a different joy. a different feeling.
and maybe someday it will carry a different meaning; maybe some memories will be erased. and the lyrics will hold someone else.
A few years back we were strangers as we are today. And as destined we met and shared. We shared our dreams, our hopes, our problems, our happiness, and the list goes on and on. It felt like we were a family, a shoulder to cry on, the ones to whom we could always run to and always talk open heartedly.
We actually don't know what our future hold for us and what might happen the next moment but we played our roles perfectly in those few years. We might cross paths again with familiar faces but with different heart and soul.
Our time was limited so is our life. And yet remains to play another role with a stranger just like you.
She ended our relationship a week before Christmas.
Our paths crossed when I first met her in an online chat group. It wasn't love at first sight but definitely love at every sight. We took turns to fly to meet each other. She helped me pretty much in everything and so did I. We shared memorable Christmas that year and our relationship started to grow more.
That fond memory when I first hugged you in the airport and we gazed at each other's eyes for a minute or two and how the whole world was blurred. And in your deep blue eyes I laid out all my love. Everything was so beautiful and so right.
But I assumed much. I expected and took crazy stupid decisions that caused her to pull back. We tried to save our bitter relationship but it wasn't working at all. And now we're just working on ourselves to remain as close as friends.
And at times I wonder how would have things turned out if only I had done right to her - simply loving her the way she loved me and what regrets would have haunted us only if we stayed as friends?
Secondhand books are amazing. Some faded letters, torn covers, missing pages and sometimes bookmarks and scribbled notes are amazing. They are uniquely beautiful than the ones kept in shelves waiting to be dusted. Their pages hold tears, kisses, smiles, hugs and what not. They are beautiful even with their spines broken. For they are loved and read time and again and has a little history hidden itself within the pages.
Maybe the desire of books are always to be read and shared.
He'll be the one holding you. The one who'll share your dreams, your wishes, your worries, your phobias, your tears and your smiles. The one who'll know your favorites- colour, dress, food, place, book, movie. The one who'll know how much you love to sit back and watch movie, go out with friends, go for shopping, have endless talks. The one who'll be there to wipe your tears, to make you smile, to make you happy, to stay up whole night with you. The one who'll know your bad times- the time when you lost your good friend, the time when you used to think whole night, the time when you'd just be all alone. The one who'll cherish your good times- the day you two met, the times you spent together, the times she went to watch her favorite movie, the times when she'd wake up with your text in her notifications. The one who'll be with you through thick and thin, through best and worst, through nights and days and always with you. And still he'll love you always.
It is amazing to see a person concentrating deeply in a book. I can't help myself but just stare at them. They will be living the life of different characters; a different story. And I always remain so curious how will they feel when the chapters end. Will they ever flip the same pages again? Does it leave a mark on their side of the story? Countless questions may arise in my mind but it still is peaceful to see a soul lost amid the pages, finding a meaning among the words and living a story of an unknown mind.
don't be selfish. if you don't love her pointy chin, let her go. if you don't love her wrinkles or dark circles, let her go. if you can't make her smile at her best or worst, let her go. if you can't hold her hands out in the public, let her go. if you can't buy her flowers, let her go. if you can't text at unexpected hours of the day just to put a smile on her face, let her go. if you can't give your best, let her go.
don't be selfish. someone else will die for her smile. someone just yearns to hear her voice. someone wishes to hold her hand. someone will make her his little companion forever. someone can give her everything.
don't be selfish. don't hold her back. don't let her happiness wilt away. don't make her cry. don't waste her beautiful smiles.
don't be selfish. let her be with someone who wishes her best. she deserves someone who accepts the way she is. her flaws. her imperfections. her stupidity. her beauty. her charm. her happiness. ----------------------------------------------------------- #writersnetwork
Sometimes I look at my own life through the eyes of a spectator. I can feel the choices that I've made changed my destiny.
What if those weren't the decisions I ever made? Wouldn't I be in different scenarios? Would it always be the same in near future? Is it going to be alright at the end? And what if not?
And it occurs that what if I were given a second chance, will I still make the same choices? Will I fall in love with the same girl? Will I still be making those same silly mistakes? Will I be any different?
But the curtain drops.
And again someday I find myself lost watching over the things I did. The things that mattered. The things that changed my destiny.
Some words are better left unsaid. Some feelings are better left unexpressed. Some stories are better left untold. Some poems are better left unrecited. ----------------------------------- Even at 2 a.m. he stares at his screen, the long written paragraph waiting patiently to be backspaced. His words speaks to himself. His thoughts all over the room. His feelings all shattered on the floor. Four walls and white ceiling, they sit quietly listening to all his backspaced stories. ---------------------------------------------