Writings

There was a girl named Sam and she was beautiful. She was all the zestfulness of the sun and the mysterious beauty of the rain. Her hair casually flipping over her shoulder, the sound of her gentle muffled laughter. She lived "the" life - carefree, fun, free. She seldom talked about herself and that vagueness added a bit of a thrill to those who seek to know her more. She was mysterious, and beautiful. She had friends and family who all loved her. She got all the things she wanted — after all, she deserved everything. How she gently pressed ...
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Decided to publish this five-year-old draft today, just because For the next twelve hours... you will be with me, and I will be with you, and we will worry about nothing but the cold night, which eventually will be not so cold after all, for I will be warmed by your embrace, and together, we will rock ourselves to sleep. The blues are freezing, yet we will stand in the middle, unmindful of the chills. You will hold me and would not let go, and we will watch the water steam. For the next twelve hours... I will lock myself ...
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I gave birth to a baby boy. Or at least I dreamt that I did. It was the evening, and I was crouched by the hearth. He was there with an ache in my bones. I felt it. Fast-forward within the white walls of the hospital. I drowsily peeked through the nursery's glass wall (One is not allowed to wander after giving birth; but dreams are surreal...) There laid those tiny porcelain fingers and delicate whorls of tiny ears. He was crafted by the tiny chisels of white-winged angels. I held him, a small wrinkly thing in my hand — ...
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Under the weight of numbed fingers I lay, unconvincingly asleep, as the world peers through my bedroom window. I look up through shadow-filled lashes. The pseudo-heroes, the deceived children, the tormented matchbox lovers who got caught in the undertow of life. My mind wanders and words leak out of my skull, seeping like black tar; they burn my skin like the sting of elusive flames. - “The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time, into deeper and deeper shades of night.” ― Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance - There is a gaping void that only ...
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Sometimes, I think of all the people I've lost or grew apart from and wonder what they would think if they saw me or knew me now, given how much time has passed and how much things have changed. Would we still be friends? Would we argue over the same things? Would we be kinder, at the very least? Then I remember that I lost those people for a reason. There's a masochistic (probably narcissistic) urge to want them back in my life perhaps just to be able to say "Look, I’m better now. Look, I didn't need you with ...
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Find arms that will raise you up from your most helpless plights and hold you at your frailest. Find eyes that will behold your beauty, even at your ugliest. Find a heart that will love you unquestioningly, even at your most repulsive. Because that is the only love that really matters. And when they aren't someone else's, they need to be your own — and that's the hardest part ...
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