Hot and Cold.

If your mind is a universe in itself,
Your heart is what hath made it.
In saying that i mean,
If your structure is the universe,
Your heart is what hath made it.
If there are millions of galaxies in the universe,
One elemental particle of your brain is where
I assume, is the precise location
Of the milky way galaxy.
While the other galaxies,
Cosmic dust,stars,meteors and cosmic events
Occupy all other aspects
Thriving within you.
I guess your nostrils, your ears and navel
Make for the supermassive black holes.
Both of your eyes,
Make for the strangest surprise,
At the centre of whose surrounding night
Two neutron stars lie and hide.
Your dark light hair,
Are gushes of energetic flare,
Whose ignorance is independent.
Untouchable by your cosmic events.
They grow until they fall,
And they fly.
Your nails reappear in the sky,
As dead planets and satellitles
Which had there half moons when your were still a child,
But now are mere parts we must cut out,
Except when we realize they can inhabit beauty as well.
Your nails are cosmic refugees
Like Pluto.
There are all other aspects that i still do not know.
Yet the strangest thing is;
In all the universe in you i see,
Within is your eyes
I can seem to find Me.
And all i can hear you say is
” Heat expands and cold contracts”,
Over and over again
In every new sentence.

They had asked me-
To think of the bigger picture,
To see the greater good.
I have seen and i have witnessed nothing bad.
Maybe because i have seen so for long
Only in the dark,
I never realize what i could find
In the light.
You say karma is a bitch,
But now let me show you how it can be.

Heat expands and cold contracts.
But in particle physics that same opposite is true as well.
What expands creates cold and what contracts creates heat.
During the same instant of action of the same
Popularised event.
Simply,
You heat something ,it expands, the heat spreads and the lattice expands,
The heat/energy is not infinitly available so, its spread along the expanding and dissipates uniformly,
Slowly creating a coldlattice,
growing more and more cold from its centre.
Similarly, you cool something it contracts.
But in contraction, when they reach the particles limits,
It either is excited and contradicts to contraction by creating heat, by energy standards
And/or changes it bonds to tranform shape and form a denser formof itself.
But in that too, its adds to its energy in gettng more cold,
To the point where cold can burn us too.
Thus,
In the most fundamental sense of particles,
In cooling and contracting something,
We create potential towards heat.
Like we create heat, when our bodies
Collide and conduct love.
And in heating something to expansion,
We create potential towards coldness.
Like we feel a cold void,
When an emotion inside us expands and dissipates, when it must be lost.
As Newton had said in his section law of motion,
Which stands true as a law of action.
Hence,
We create a gradullay exciting or dissipating
equal and opposite reaction for every action we take.
Which, through its initiation
Creates one decisive action in reality,as we act on it
And mutiple other equal and opposite alternative possiblities of actions,
That we do not percieve as our realities.
But they exist as alternate possibilities due to our action and inaction towards the rest.
And in a more specific and particular sense
We do so and are doing so at every other instant of our life,
Creating millions of actions and other alternate possibilities that exist but we do not act upon,
Unless, and until,
We suddenly change our course through our action-packed lives and
Diverge and converge to one such interconnected alternative reality,
Making more decisions and indecisions and creating a rather infinite array ofpossibilities of life,
In one single life of one single organism.

In saying that ,
I must warm you,
By going as far as to make you my universe,
I have created many such extentions to other possible realtities,
Among which one exists in which you are
As little and as much of nothing
As the opposite of the whole infinite universe.
Which you would rather be aware
To not let me encounter,
Now that you know i can go so far.
And that is how karma is a cyclic bitch,my love.

To love you
Is not mere intensity,
As it is,when realized by the abilitiee of vision.
They are much truer, in ther depth
As a reflection of me.
To have you with all the possibilties of my senses,
To touch and taste
Your skin and its deliciousness.
To hear you mind from you voice,
Beyound all measures of distraction.
To remember the sight and smell of your living and dying cells,
To look at you and find myself within.
That is where my actions have led to,
That is where my possibilities have come to
And has left me – at the fate of your hands.
You hands that can hold, that can crumble my universe.
But you must know,
I own you as closely and dearly
As i have surrendered myself.
And although my hands might shake,
I cannot help but have our fates
Converge and become the same,
And One.
(Major Stien’s Gate referencing; El Psy Congroo a.ka. Karma issa Bitch!)

In awe, in sadness and in silence.

Two bodies were dropped.
Their souls unknowingly and eagerly in love,
Were suddenly dropped,
On a flower-bed of eternal love-making.
There they stayed and made love,forever.
Youth-hung over them ,like greed;
Mother fortune- blind;
They stained and coloured all around them,
Outliving gods, as simple man and wife.

It was now, thousands and thousands of years beyond,
The earth had spinned a million more times around,
Their bodies were now merely atoms-bound.
Illusionary,variegated,
Subject to change at any direction ,any dimension.
Never affecting it, neither getting affected by it,
Two perfect Bodies, only floating through Time.

With years of passed time,they now realize,
Mother Fortune,like youth,is only a little baby,
With innocence sublime,not at all blind.
Their youth and love, that knew only youth;
Had now begun to grow old.
Their love, now made them- bored.
There colorful ensemble was growing a permanent skin,
Eyes,ears,nose. A voice,
Distinct margins and dissimilar markings.
Two bodies that started looking- not so perfect for each other,
Floating together,through time.

Bored and alone,
To pass the rest of infinite time,
They ignored each other,
Meditating on personal perceptions ,
And images of shared reflections.
Two ripe fruits,all plump and oozing in love,
Were now dropped and lay coated in a crust,
Of hard shell,and the dust
Of a love,that swelled and burst and was lost.

Compelled to everlasting lovemaking,and alone,
Their efforts, now came to numerous halts for sudden gasps,
long breaths with crypted sighs,
Pairs of eyes,not looking ,
That keeps searching for something in the wild.
Many days,they only lay on each other,
Noticing things,here and there-
Those distinct markings and dissimilar margins,
Eyes,nose,ears,the voice.
Mother Fortune was now truly blind.

When they looked at each other now,
They only saw images that had crash-landed on each other,
Of unnaturally occuring colors on plain skin, and some minute defects
Considerably,not compelling,to make love to.
They knew,where the other one,
Would sit or touch,
What they would eat and even
what they would say.
They looked at each other ,like they were remnants of a disastrous collision.
In awe,
In sadness and
In silence.
Like turning pages of a history book.

With all this ,each of them built a seperate world,
Of which,they thought,the other one did not know.
Or ever could.
War had suddenly broken out,
And two bodies knew,
They were no longer in love.
And since,now with imperfect bodies
They only had a single direction and dimension,
They had to tear off a-part and separate.
Nobody screamed in pain.
So nobody cleaned the bloodshed.

Finally a-part and free,
With wide eyes and excitement,
They looked for things that defines – ‘Me’.
And as naturally as fishes in the sea,
People came,struck,marked,and defined them.
Like they do with imperfect bodies.
Without awe,
Without any sadness or silence.
Like an examination.

Among those who came;
Some were like the previous – same.
The rest did not even have a definite name,
Let alone a character ,or a claim
Over ‘their’ love.
They were ,the perfect bodies,
Illusionary and variegated,
With no definite direction or dimension.
Some that came were even Gods.
But the two sad souls,could love none.

No one,even after another thousands of years later,
Had become as human as they were.

I do not know what had happened from here,
But i only know this.
The two sad souls,unable to love,
Had unknowingly met once,once again.
And when they looked at each other-
Man and wife.
What they saw was so very undefine-able,
They only kept looking.

Trains of thoughts and Trainwrecks.

A sentence, left mid way.A world of thought that started with fascinating,stopped. She sat on her chair,that was slowly feeling softer, and now her butt-cheeks pressed against it with a thud. Like some weight was put on her back again. Weight of something that was about to rise up and explode into magical fireworks. Because she had started off by saying that “it’s fascinating”. But my slow introduction towards another situation and surrounding,had occured quiet sudden and unfortunately was inappropriately timed, for where the trains of thoughts and concerns and duties had ultimately lead to ,to that quiet misfortunate instance. These times can occur quiet often and/or rarely not all begin with ‘fascinating’ so it is not always disrespectful to avoid it. But this day,was quiet unlike and rightfully unfortunate,probably disrespectful too ,now when i think about it too much.

Daily life has so much to be taken care of ,i hate the thought that you have to take care of a baby too. And that babies turn out to be monsters and parents turn out to be shameless and un-parently. Not everyone can understand the hectic and overwhelming amount of thought,practice,time and energy that is spent behind our meals and diet. I do not guess,the studies are any less harder. While most of the world notices this as something very simple. When you have a dutiful life ,you have to spend quality time in preparing meals,which is hard as fuck ,and it gets better when it includes knowing the items that are not there,getting them. The lists,the receipts,the weight. It is a very lengthy process and takes and lot from you. People love maggie because they like staying in one place ,useless. And then you have to cook,that requires so much fucking patience and really some amount of love ,in doing it. Because that is what makes good food,for good people. When you put love into food,it looks and tastes either amazing or weird. When you dont, everybody just knows. Food that is exquisite and pompous may or may not always have love thriving around it.

Today, she sat ,while i stood- discussing the whereabouts of bazaars at our area. Some of the very auspicious ingredients of daily meal preparation where already all consumed and ‘the others’ that remained had gone bad.While explaining i called a place as the ‘haat’ which is not actually one. Most sellers ,almost all, occupy the roadsides with there low-key stalls ,looking like stranded needy people. Asking everyone that walk past them to help them out. Everybody comes for them,but avoid till they are given enough attention which can probably lead to a cheaper transaction based of a false notion of connection or classic wordplay,that i have come to realise only cunning and old women do best. The rest just keep trying till they know what will work. The latter has low confidence or have psuedo-confindence lingering above them,quiet airy. The needy know it all,all about it. They show that they have faltered to the bourgeoise standing in front of them. In a picture it would look like a master and slave portrait,signified by their standing and sitting posture,alone. Because nothing else defines them as otherwise to me, now. Yet in reality,they keep leaching and aquire their personal profit,just less. Maybe some of us,know about that too. The only buyers who really have a one or two rupee profit are the ones,who both have known each other for quiet sometime enough,to bore each other out with all the bargain and fake shit. People who get comfortable with each other,also bore each other out,in good ways. And can be around each other with very less conversation. The quality of presence becomes more impactful, than the amount.

This ‘haat’ was always available during the evening ,unlike those on the roadsides. Except for one day every week. I called it ‘haat’ because of its peculiarity when i still did not know what a ‘haat’ is or where it was, at our area. When i knew about it,i did not bother to change it. I believe, people who tend to coin terms or recoin already coined terms too,to signify peculiarities, have a little attraction and ego working towards it. And me being a male ,the ego comes as a natural evil. So it remained,as what i term as ‘my whim’. But i only term things that i see as – all kinds of ‘different’.

So while she corrected me,and i accepted her correction. She said- ” it’s pretty fascinating, the fact about ‘haat’ .” And she had that rare smile,that people have when they feel like the spotlight of a stage is on them ,and they uplift their chests and bodies a little ,to fill in the air and begin to speak of something, that will fascinate you as well. That feeling,that makes you feel a little lifted,that stretches your smile as wide as your eyes open up to release pent up excitement . Be it realising something original,revealing a mystery or being a teacher for someone and telling them something they did not know of. The energy they give out is -at the brink of being something fascinating. And when she is someone who you already have less and valuable conversations with,who you adore most times as a quality person of a kind. Who is also a quiet peculiarly young professor. When they are about to speak of fascinating things,i see now,unfortuantely too late,today,how wrong it is to let that go and divulge into ones personal requirements.Sometimes Time looks like the most fake shit present. It is a vacant space that occupies all,is affected by nothing,and so swift that it does not really exist in particles,only as a whole. Still, it affects all,bends all,is unparalleled. Time is really cunning ,bad. And every time it is not almost right or perfect ,it causes demolition or cracks that lead to the same outcome.

I did not hear anything after the last utterance of ‘haat’. I got into the bathroom,not at all comfortable in the new atmosphere that had everything normal and okay. Something felt like it went missing. I foolishly did not yet know what. Even after the shower water hit me so cold ,in this hot aftermath of a hotter day. It is most misfortunate that i have slow receptors and only later, started realising other facts ,after some minutes of reminiscing in physical discomfort. I heard no sounds outside the bathroom, the place around where she sat,stranded and alone now. There was a sigh ,that i had missed and now recollected. A sigh of too much weight and dampness from all the unfinished conversation,where the most personally meaningful and impactful set of words and thoughts would be webbed into the most fascinating tale. There was a gentle ,yet loud thud,like a loud whisper, aquired by its sudden-ness. The thud from the weight of heavy sighs ,that makes your butt-cheeks press hard against the chair,and you start feeling less softer. That instance,is another piece of silence between two people that has much deeper meaning. It is not boring or casual or is understandable. It is sad and cannot be understood and is unfortunate. A mystery that everybody leaves unsolved.And ultimately ,nobody cares about it anymore. Not even a husband and a wife. Not even two lovers. Not even two friends.

Trainwrecks are how fascinating things,die.

And i have not Stopped since..

I never went on a journey.
My intentions were to flee.
And as soon as my feet left familiar soil,
And my middle finger screamed “fuck you” high up in the air,
There you were,
Halfway coloured in shadows and the rest – pale shining starlight.
Just that easily, my intentions grew weaker.
As we rode along to where the winter winds grew stronger.
I could gaze at the infinite array or unrecognised constellations, of a starry starry night,
I could jump into the cold transparent lake water, then to call it a foolish mistake.
I could cross the line, which everyone was refused to.
I could waste my time otherwise,
Spend it in many instantaneous adventures.
Just to feel alive, or just to flow away.
But then, i did not.
I watched you, with your incorrigible egoistic smile,
And it made me realize what it feels to be alone.
And i could not want to know life anymore, without you.
I watched you, collapse your head on pillows and walls, my shoulders.
Smile at the stupidity of the monster, that you are.
Then collapse my head somewhere else.
I am a monster too. Rather less cold than you.
I wish i could share with you, the little warmth i still retain.
I wish i could kiss, and hope no one else would even notice.
Not give a fuck what you would think, do it,
And then shy and smile along or say sorry later.
No, maybe i would spare it all and you and me, and not ruin us.
Just keep watching, and let my intentions grow weaker.

My intentions were to flee.
But then i saw you, and i returned unflinchingly.
I was never going on a journey.
But then i saw you, and i flew.

Decay.

You know, old people have a tendency to talk about their memories or of other they know, they lose the rhythm of the conversations they are a part of. That, i guess, happens a lot before they are about to die. With or without the death clause, they also, i think, get bored and lost both, of speech of it all. We see the body but the mind rusts along too. The weaknesd is very wholesome. It is blurry vision that keeps going off, slow pace and weakness and being lost. It is very imminent in me and very noticeable by the people around me too. It is not only the weed, i know. It is more in my willingness of it all. I think i am about to be dead. What is sad is i cannot kill myself. I can just die and remain dead like that. And i have no idea or imagination of how long i would need to wait here. Leave my body here, dying, decaying.

You are cordially invited to my Death.

What does it take,
To not be anymore, awake and afraid?
I am lizard, missing steps
And falling on heads
and running away.
As old as the letters on the cardboard say-“GO AWAY”.
What would it take,
To escape
Once again to where there is no cloudy sky,
Where no bird, not a soul comes by.
And the stars sparkle in an infinite display
On your lap will my head again lay,
Would you stay?
Till we seep into our graves
And warm our skeletons.
Or atleast try.But you are sleeping around,
And i remain sleep deprived.
My head hangs, stuggles in the ‘gamcha’ knot
tight around my throat.
Flies fly around my nose
And knock me in my eyes.
And pink floyd keeps on whispering, repeating into my ears,
To shine on like a crazy diamond.
I guess it made me too crazy, to die.
I was home, my dear.
But home to so much more, that you couldn’t bear.I wish i could again circle around with you,
Like now i rotate with the fan blades, without you.Now the burning splinter of my cigarette,
Should make a big mistake.
Burn my little white bed.
And all that was mine, off late.
And me.
And the parts of you hidden in my bookshelf.My show ends here,
It does not want to go on.
My grandeur will be my funeral pyre.
Right here.
And I may not be a diamond in the end.
But here i burn crazy,
Burn bright through my bones and flesh.

The Impossibility of Gender Equality- A short story.

Maybe that is where i went wrong-
Wearing her like a crown on my head.
Young women are just, too young for a forever.
They are just stupid enough for passion,instantaneous acts of love making.They grow too old and bored with those same moments of holding hands. Time for them, runs on a treadmill and they desire all that heat and intensity more.
My masculine existence restricts me from calling it their fault when the forefathers and brothers of my sex has overlooked them for so long. Sometimes i believe that is why they adore makeup so much. Just for the purpose to outshine someone, something or just themselves. And i cannot really say how those fake colours fail to establish its variety of purposes, even for the ugly women.

Maybe i should have given up, when she told me to stop with the music. When she warned me against stepping everywhere in a symphony. How unmanly it looks. Or how i should be more presentable. How dirty it is to not take a bath, how she felt uncomfortable to touch an unkempt body. How good it would feel, if she could fuck a moviestar-like guy. No matter how worthless she herself is. Maybe a girl, maybe a woman never stops dreaming big. Of a house, of a job, of being a queen or fucking a moviestar.
I should have stopped when she got tired of year after year of pujas, and those specail days and occasions , and year after year of memories of us together smiling. So long that i had learnt those smiles by heart. Or i should have stopped, when i asked her for a pen, when i intended to give her a flower, that amounted to five flowers a week that grew old and dry in my dark cold bag every night. Atleast i should not have let her near my naked body,kiss my skin, feel that kiss and tell her i love her,the thousand times i did.

All along i knew i was too late. Too late to save her or myself. My sex fucked her up so long that all i am left with now, is a fucked up women i can only observe and look after. A sad irony, that like a forceful conversation only feels silence. Sad like how a zero has to exist without any value. Or maybe i should just be a man and accept it.

I was looking straight into her eyes for about 10minutes. It seemed like dreaming. She had this power over me, making me imagine of a whole universe just with her eyes. Only this time, she did not keep looking back, she looked at me in a most peculiar way, because nobody stares back at someone they love when that person just said that they want to breakup with them. She was concerned about what was wrong with me this time. Sometimes i think, girls are concerned of all the wrong things. Its upsetting sometimes, how they gain a differential insight into your head and soul sometimes.
The phone rang and she had a horrible conversation with her dad. When she came back to the room where she had sat me down with a cup of coffee that turned probably as cold as she seemed to me now. And i loved coffee. And i was reassured that Time is the most fearful aspect of nature. When i returned to where i was, i saw a similar fear on her face, looking more aesthetic with a ting of perplexed-ness, a dash of anger and that sweet little hopelessness that used to make me hold on to her hand whenever i saw her sit like that. I asked her what was wrong. Being a strong woman she said she was fine. But when i did not hesitate to ask again, being a woman, she burst with little droplets of tears and a faint voice that was trying to hold onto them, a most stupid mechanism that i still dont get. The jist of her problem was that her father could be probably arrested for being initially unlucky, then turning filthy, then filthy rich in which period he made his personal mistakes and thus unlucky again. He was also an asshole, who neglected his family treated both his wife and daugther like servants and looked at them with disgust. And only came back during problems and begged for help. I told her that that is how most adults of today are, weak and too full of themselves. It did not help her cause much. I was never good at calming her down with words. I could not be that instantaneouly charming with my words as her moviestars. But like a dear, she would always completely ignore what i would say. Like a dear, she did it again. Her current problem was that her father told her that the police might come looking for him that day. And when they do, she should not tell her about his whereabouts. This he did with such love in his voice, i presume, which had been more discomforting as she could not choose between a father and an asshole anymore.
I sat there, realizing her agony and how alone she might be feeling. How softly her heart always beats when she is lost, it almost feels like she is about to die. I began to feel afraid too then. Knowing i have no reason to be there anymore, she has already left me and that would not even change with anything i do, as she clearly said in those exact words. I was afraid to unnecessarily face the police when and if they came. How to handle them, what to say, how to hide my fear of the police, what if they try to hurt her or take her into custody for questioning? What would i say, if they asked me anything? I saw her face again, probably for a minute or two, it looked so similar to just some time ago when we were still together only in distress. I moved the cold coffee, grabbed her cold hand and reailzed being a man is just accepting how and what it is, and still being there. Being a man is just very necessary when a woman stops being a woman by herself.
So i told her that it will all be fine, trying to hold on to my fear with my faint voice, knowing a little how this stupid mechanism works. I promised her all by myself that i wont leave just yet. She just said a plain and simple “Okay”.
And we sat there holding hands and waiting.
Maybe that is where i went wrong.

The only thing true about everything, is that it will remain incomplete.

All I could think of was of that very moment. The dark room, the white light coming from the window, that faded equally, it seemed, on every piece of furniture in the room, making the resin paste on them glisten. She stood there, in the middle, from me and the god forsaken window that made her look even more beautiful than her age. The only thing alive that was shining in that dark, silent, empty room. She was smiling now, realising how much we both were loving this moment of doing absolutely nothing. The silence, or rather the inability to say anything. I copied her, realising the same. And then the purpose of our meeting, was done with. We made love.In the next morning, we were back at our own separate rooms. I was here lying on my bed contemplating on something or something’s that i could not hold on to. Much like a dream. I did not know what she was up to. Maybe she was with her husband having their breakfast. Maybe doing morning chores, bathing, singing, busy with something but not lying down doing nothing like me. My mind then in a rush got so involved in being this alone that i forgot everything around me. Even where i was, what place it was i was lying, on whose bed. What i knew i remember is me and that woman,and a faint look of her husband.
There was a sudden chaos outside. And i had my attention escape, to discover what was happening outside. I opened the door to my room, and there was this big hall, it was almost dusk. The hall had many large windows, and the light that came from all around made it very easy to guess the time. It was almost like i was standing in the middle of a specific moment in time. She was sitting on a chair, again in the middle surrounded by some number of people and a man in a suit moving furiously. It was her husband, i guessed successfully. The people kept commenting, some shouting, some saying things to the woman and then to her husband. Sitting there, quiet when she saw me through the small crowd, i could sense her eyes felt some momentary relief which faded quiet as fast as i saw it.
Then she told her story that they all wanted to hear. I could figure out some parts of what she said. I could not hear again. She said she had been unfaithful probably always, she had slept with quiet a few people, even a girl once. When she said the number of guys, maybe because someone asked her, she smiled and said, i think she had said 6 or 8 or maybe 13. I remember she smiled while she said so, as if it was a joke. I felt hurt then, being quiet young and a bit weak at controlling oneself. She was a woman of 29(i had asked her , and she had answered without being offended), and me 8bloody years young. It was a mistake what we did, just a one time thing of two stupid horny people. And then i saw her in the middle of those people looking at her with anger, disgust. To them she was not a human figure, not her name even, not a woman, she was just the feeling of anger or disgust. A vessel. And i knew, among all of this. Maybe it was a mistake but i decided that she needed to know that i am looking at her too like that time before. So i went near her, knelt down next to her and held on to her hand and looked into her eyes, demanding her attention towards me. She gently looked back. We were doing nothing again, only more closer, more intimate. It seems we were both a little deaf and dumb. I never saw her lips move, but i could hear echoes of her voice saying how alone she felt for so long, how she tried to feel love, how mad she went to feel how being with someone felt like. And all she felt every time was absolutely nothing. How much it hurt her, all of it. How difficult it is to be unable to explain oneself, to talk to someone. How numb she became trying to be her and then trying to be someone else. How deeply lost she was, that she had just closed her eyes and let herself float in this dark universe of the lost.
Each echo grew louder and louder than the next, and with each echo everything around me started to demolish itself. The people, the walls, the windows, the light which had come to a brilliant dusk time orangish red. Every atom around me started to burst and disappear.
A dark, empty universe came into existence. She took her left hand, over mine. I had discovered last night, i liked how her left palm felt on me a little more. She held my hands, almost like she copied me and said – “you did not make me feel alone, and i want to fall in love with you”.
I was lying in my bed. About to wake up from my sleep and this dream, and as my eyes were about to open i saw her tears rolling down her eyes, glistening on the corner. I was about to hold her in my arms for the longest time i ever could and i woke up, my eyes wide open. And all i could do was have tears in my eyes, all by myself.

Happy Birthday.

“Do you remeber the last day you were happy? “, I asked myself, similing to myself, all by myself in my empty room when a friend in a whatsapp group posted this picture of me with my girlfriend, when we were done with class 10. I saw this picture, and knew the answer to my question,and all i could utter was, “women are fickle minded”, as i gazed at her smile in an endless cycle, still smiling and thinking how it all ended- us along with me.

Our school was co-ed and my family had enough women that i came across, to formulate my understanding of their nature. I do not claim to know them still, but then i came in acquaintance with her, and i believed i had found a woman. And my stupid teen mind said, she is the girl i am to marry and love till death and later and so on. I saw all those dreams, because i was filled with so much of love and affection for her. My stupid mind, still dreams profusely and she does not stop forcing her way in, interuppting my life, still so beautiful, i have no choice but to not love her forever. I dare not betray this one true feeling alive even when her love that might thrive in her somewhere, like a seed, never saw growth, never, i believe was even born. Her fickle mind might have missed out on noticing me.

Maybe she did not love me. And i cannot blame her. I was weak then, vulnerable, and i gave myself up without a thought, to loving her. She was strong and beautiful and sensible. Not something I found in anyone else. But on this day, she chose to hold onto my hand instead of anybody else’s. We had moments later on, but this day stands to be the moment when i was happy. This happiness was tangible, and i was holding it. It was, as it has always been- her.

We were together abruptly and suddenly. Precisely like the unplanned rain on a sunny wednesday, when she had first said “i love you” in that three word text. And all of a sudden, like magic, it started raining. And i started shouting i love you Sayante in the middle of the road. That day, i expressed being free,being unstoppable, falling completely in love. And the world, cried along.

If i could stop, i would stop myself at holding her hand here and make my life turn into this picture, but life is not so profoundly fortunate anymore, it seems. I say this because, we were thrown apart to just texts, due to different schools and other teenage restrictions. And we slowly grew apart through less and less conversations. To one Saturday, when i realized in a phonecall that we had to come to an end. So surprisingly, and suddenly,like a thunderstorm during the dead, silent autumn.

All i could think of, coming back from reminiscing through the memories of 4years back is that women maybe fickle minded, but she was more. She had a will, some strong force inside her that she never betrays . It is not about if she is right or she is wrong, or good or bad or stupid, but that she is strongly bound to being herself. Such a person does not need anyone. And yet, she chose to hold my hand that day. I cannot imagine what a girl had to go through all her life until that very moment, but that day she chose me and i am forever grateful to her to make me feel so special. To allow me into her world, because for a girl like her it is never easy to chose a boy like me.

Lovers ask lovers what they love about the other. I have had my share of the question too and came up with well designed answers. But I never did really answer her why. Maybe because I never can. It is simple you know, i chose to love her suddenly, and to never betray that feeling.

But you know strong women like her are very proud. So let us put it like, i promised to her, and just so that she is not left alone at the end of her life, i am keeping that promise and not leave her literally as long as she wants and figuratively always.

Her birthday was on 28th July and i miss her every day. Or maybe, it just women and all women are fickle minded.

Your soul belongs elsewhere.

You know, i think we have a wrong idea about soulmates. We are all looking for one. But i guess, most of us are actually blessed with one soulmate, that is our Mothers.
They are people and some turn out to be bitches but most of us have not got such a mother.
I call my mum my soulmate because today i woke up to realising today was mother’s day. I feel awkward as shit with such family emotional times, so i avoid. Because i am sissy piece of shit. I wait for mah sistah to start then i follow. But today, i realised as we had a conversation of our economical status as the main topic. I had a flashback of all such conversations i started to have with my mother at certain points of time in my life. And i find my mother, with an even more flexible and considering and progressive mentality than me sometimes. And i realize what a super human i stay with. She was born earlier for her time. So me and sistah have got a good advisor. And apart from this,i relate to her uncomfortableness with oiram-oirma matters of conversations. And she still gives me my freedom, which i feel great to exploit at time most times as well.
It is not just about mother’s day. But it is true, however most our mothers are. We have got a person who has always be and always naturally will be expendable for us. Good and even evil for us. That is so much of being a soulmate right. With all its wrongs too.
So someday i will celebrate a mother, s day with you, smoke a joint together and chill bebz.
Yo, Ma.