They said let your feelings flow, so I picked up a pen. And here I am, writing your name. Over, and over again.
Over these past years, I have grown so close to you, that even your name has become a feeling; So why not let you flow tonight?
Maybe my wounds will heal, maybe they won't. Maybe my mind will get used to hearing your name, maybe it won't. But who cares, I will let you flow tonight.
And tonight who knows, it might not be like the other nights. Yes, the moon will still be there, the stars will still shine. And yes, like every other night, tonight also, the breeze will blow my hair, when I look through the window and see nothing but despair.
But maybe today, you'll flow enough for me not to feel anything tomorrow. Or maybe you'll still remain, for me to remember you everyday, every night, every minute and every passing second.
Honey, you might not know but with every breath, you've become a little less mine and I, a little more yours. -- NAINA KASHYAP
Hi guys!! Do u remember me? Some of you probably do, and many of you don't. But what if I have only 4 months to live? What if all the random conversations I struck up with random strangers, was because I knew it would be my last? What if I tell you that I will no longer be beside you to cheer you up, like everytime? What if all the crazy things I have done in the last few months was because I knew: that these would be the last mistakes I ever make? What if everytime I ditched our plans because I had tutions to attend, was really when I went for a check up? What if the medicines I always took for my asthama problem, was actually the medicines I had to take for 'not curing but delaying death'. What if all this is true? What if I was not brave enough to tell you about all this? Maybe i just did not want to be looked at sympathetically. But I can asure you this past year has been nothing but Legend...wait for it...Dary. With the coming of 2019, and my death advancing, I just want you to know I love you. And leaving you will be hard. But mostly that I love you.
Hey, I know it's late and I should be sleeping, but it is not the first time your thoughts have kept me up. I have already looked at the clock, its 3a.m. The hour of the dead as one might refer to, I do too but for reasons that are different from the ones you think. Have you ever thought carefully about who don't sleep at this hour of the night? It is the lovers that were torn to shreds; it is the ones that can't stop thinking. It is basically people who have lost something: Love, Faith, Lover, and hope to live. It is at this hour that these dead souls live, that they come alive, but that too with feelings of grief. The drug of the forged facade finally wears off as the emotions that were numb so far start to take place. And in the darkness of the night, if you listen carefully, you'll hear the cry, the wails of people. But you know that in the morning they will be fine, at least they will pretend to. But night unto night, you know their wails are becoming louder, but you can't do anything but sit and listen. And suddenly it all stops. There are no more wails, no one crying. But in the dark, where it all started, you realize you were that person all along. But it is too late now. Your feelings are frozen, in a way that they can't be thawed again. And you get to live with it for your whole life, a life that you did not choose, but the one that choosed you. #writersnetwork #excerptfromabookthatiwillneverwrite #midnightthought
When words no longer supported me; tears did. And that is why this poem is dedicated to tears; the ones that flowed for unnecessary people, the ones that flowed for loved ones, and for the ones that we once loved. When abrupt stop hits me, you act as a release. When my pen no longer flows with ink of love, you flow as an expression of my surrender. But the thing about you, is that you are not a secret and therefore cannot spill. You are not a vault, I don't have to gaurd you. You help me and never leave me, And I don't know if I should be sad or happy. #writersnetwork
Hey guys!!! I know I haven't uploaded anything for a week now. S.O.R.R.Y I was actually busy packing, for I have a camp to attend. So, won't be able to upload anything for another week. DON'T LOSE HOPE IN ME YET. --Naina Kashyap
Just tell me this why are you still in love with me? Today is 16th December. The day, when previous year, you and I were discussing what we would do. You remember, don't you; when I asked you what you would like to do for Christmas and you replied, 'I will do anything as long as it is with you.' You do remember, don't you? Can I ask you one thing? Why? What changed so much in a year? What was so different? You changed, didn't you? We had been together for years, weren't we? And yet years of closeness was broken in a span of mere days. And yet people have the audacity to ask me what is so wrong with love. What is so wrong with love? Let's begin with it never happens with the right person and when it does, you are not the right person for them. It never happens in the right time, and when it does, it is not for the right 'amount' of time.
But enough about reasons cause if reasons would've mattered, you would still be mine. Let's talk about the days when we were together and in 'Love'. You remember, don't you? When we held hands, when we called each other sweet names and still fought. Now, our hands are no longer intertwined, we don't talk, but suddenly the fights are real. But I thought you were happy, than why did you call me last night, cause yesterday I fell in love with you. Again. You still remembered our plans, you still remembered our promises. Thanks to your drunk self, you finally were accepting it. I know this morning when you wake up, you might have forgotten about the drunk call you made last night but I'll forever know the truth, behind your smiles.
So, tell me what changed so much that you no longer 'wanted' to be in love with me. Tell me why one day you suddenly broke up with me? But if none of this questions you can answer. Just tell me this, why are you still in love with me? #writersnetwork
BLANK. My page was blank, much like my imagination, much like the reality. Holding my pen in my hand, the only thing that flowed were my tears. FRUSTRATION and AGITATION; these were the feelings running through my veins yet my mind simply remained blank. I was EMPTY; but empty only suited vessels not a human being. So, with immense courage I again picked up my pen to write and thought hard. IRONY; it coursed through my mind. How stupid! People need immense courage to pick a sword and go to fight; but the little bit of optimism that was still alive in me said, 'Every battle is hard for the fighter.' FIGHTER, finally it clicked in me that I am a fighter and so is everyone, in their own ways. We don't have to rage wars to be a fighter; we just have to be distanced from the thing we love most, in my case- writing, in someone else's maybe love. So, don't think you aren't worthy enough to fight for what you love, for that is reason we are still alive. --NAINA KASHYAP #writersnetwork#ceesreposts
Let's take one day at a time. Let's hold hands one day, and the next day, let's be clad in each other's arms. Let's not kiss today, but instead talk, alright? Tomorrow you can devour me and i'll hold on to you tight. Let's not go out today, but instead dance to the music and sway. Let's not say I love you today, but instead show each other how much we mean for each other, ok Bea? Let's not fight and keep distance for one day, for when tomorrow comes we'll know what it is like with the other away. Let's sit one night and tell each other our secrets and fears, and when the sun comes up, let's not keep anything hidden. Let's forget every sorrow we ever had, and be foolish and happy for one night. Let's take one day at a time, and make forever our duration. Let's fall in love with each other, day by day, a love little more passionate than yesterday. Let's love each other till the brink of eternity, for that is the kind of love I crave, for that is the kind of love that stays. - Naina Kashyap #writersnetwork
I've tried hard, been having writer's block for days. I'm open to suggestions for improving my work. Do comment and let me know. Love Samixa
I wondered, 'What do I wear, The white horse tee, or that dress? That dress is prettier, But the stallion looks so chilled out, Oh what to do?' Suddenly, a whinny made me sit up, And something tickled my cheek Looking up I saw, The white stallion peeping from my tee! I jumped up, surprised, And then he says, 'Don't worry! Climb up! Come with me!' Excited to ride, I Got on, and flash! I'm in a pasture, Surrounded by bonny lassies and lads. All riding with joy, Yelling with delight! I'm in wonder, and then He takes me on a ride. Wild and uncontrolled, oh! So free! He says, 'I'm Sherry, My friend will you be?' I gallop the whole day, And meet Black Beauty, And then, I here a bell, Alas! Only a dream!
Corey Francis got up and took a drink of water. 'You already know the answer to that, don't you?'
Tristan Baxter didn't reply instantly. He stared at his psychologist for half a minute. Then, in a low drawling voice, he said:
'Do you know about the anterior insular cortex?'
Corey Francis nodded.
'They cut up my brain, you know. Did an MRI. Know what was missing? Anterior insular cortex. I read about it. It helps to process empathy. And everyone knows, psychopaths don't have empathy. They don't feel things the way a normal person does. So, yeah, if you go by science, I am a psychopath.'
'So why did you ask?'
Tristan smiled, his lips slightly parted, his upper teeth peeking out beneath his moustache.
'You may treat psychopaths, doctor.. but you are normal, aren't you?'
Corey gave a wry grin.
'I guess that depends on your definition of normal.'
'Oh come on Doctor, you know what I mean. You like to listen to music, watch whatever crap comes on your television, eat Chinese and pizza...get my drift?'
'What's your point, Tristan?'
'You are being paid to play with my mind. If psychopaths like me didn't exist, you would be out of a job. How messed up is that?'
'Would you like to eat something?'
'There you go. My point exactly. You try to distract somebody, it's by food or a present. Here's a news flash, I am not distracted. I don't get distracted, okay? My brain, it doesn't think like you.'
'You are talking. That's good. In the psych ward, you weren't. That's good. That's progress.'
Tristan laughed, and it was the hollowest laugh Corey had ever heard. ''And if I kill you, what happens to the progress? And believe me, I can do it. And not feel a thing.'
Corey Francis looked at her patient with narrowed eyes. She stood up slowly from her chair and smirked.
'Do you know what the media calls you Tristan? The Sacramento Stabber. You stabbed women. Young women. Women who had a future to look forward to. Women like me. So, you know what, I was given your case. You are my only patient now. My number one priority.'
That hollow laughter again. 'That means I am dangerous? A serial killer, right? God, I am such a cliche.'
'Tristan, you do realize that you will spend the rest of your life in prison?'
'Don't give a damn, doctor.'
Corey Francis sighed, the exasperation evident in her face.
'I want to tell you a story. You up for it?'
'I am listening, doctor.'
Apartment 3C. That was the information he had been provided with. Cosgrove apartments...Apartment 3C, he kept repeating in his head.
He didn't pay heed to the cold wind that had shown its face that morning. It was a lonely walk, for people had chosen the comfort of their blankets on such a dreary day. At last, he was there. After thirty minutes...which felt like an eternity.
As he knocked, for a second, he felt like Moses, having parted the Red Sea. And then, the door was opened.
For starters, he was surprised to see a woman. He had been told that his psychologist's name was Corey Francis. To all intents and purposes, that sounded like a male, at least in his mind. And secondly, she looked much younger than what he had pictured her to be.
'Come on in. You are Mr.Baxter, yeah?'
'Oh, you can call me Tristan.'
The house was modestly furnished but hinted at an elegant taste. Bookcases covered the northern facing wall, and was filled with both 19th century Gothic fiction and classic literature, as well as numerous tomes on modern psychology. A small lamp provided the only source of light in the entire room, but he could still make out her crisp and clear features in the semi-darkness.
'Do you want coffee, Tristan?'
'No.' It was a simple monosyllabic reply, but the force with which he said it made Corey look at him a little more closely. His unkempt dirty blond hair, a couple of days growth of beard and grey eyes that seemed to have a hypnotic glare in them.
She sat down on the sofa, facing towards him, and gave a wry smile. He did not reciprocate.
'Tell me how are you feeling?'
'They say I am insane, doctor. I don't feel insane. I feel okay. I feel normal.'
'That's good Tristan. That's a good sign.'
'Can I ask you a question, Doctor?'
'You can call me Corey. What is it?'
'You have dealt with psychopaths, haven't you? You know what they are like?'
'From a clinical standpoint, yes...I have experience with them. Why do you ask?'
'Corey, do you believe I am a psychopath?'
Love offers to drive you to the office even though she forgot her driving license back in the room. Love runs every red light to make sure you reach on time and glibly lies to the officer that she suffers from color blindness whenever you get pulled over.
Love hates the sight of blood but comforts you as you are about to undergo anasthesia. Love falls asleep by the hospital bed as you recover from surgery even though she doesn't know the difference between the scapula and the clavicle.
Love warns you not to drink too much tequila on New Year's Eve because she has a decent idea of the amount of alcohol you can handle. Love knows you won't listen to her and makes sure that you are tucked safely in bed when you cannot walk straight to make it back home.
Love remembers your birthday and your parents anniversary even though she's never had a Facebook account. Love reminds you to call your mother every night because she understands the importance of family.
Love occasionally forgets to turn off the coffeemaker because she has a report to prepare and smiles when you tell her it's not a big deal. Love has the latest GPS tracker with her at all times because she knows what a terrible navigator you are.
Love reads philosophy books and constantly talks about opening up her own pet shelter. Love makes sure to kiss you on the forehead every night before going to sleep.
Love sometimes stays for a year and at other times for a fortnight. Love has always struggled to stick to schedules but makes sure she drops by every now and then.