Don't move on.

I hate walking along the perfume aisle in Landmark. Because somewhere there, I smell you. I don't know what exactly it is. Paco Rabanne or cheap CK. I don't know what you wore. Or what you were. But I know you smelled the same, every time we met. I liked that about you. You were old enough, sure enough, classy enough, to have one and stick to it. You were a grown-up. I love grown-ups. 

The boy I know now - he reeks - of something different everyday. All I know is that he reeks. I know he will leave soon. I know he wants to. I'm thankful that I have no smell to remind me of him. I have a voice, a song, a restaurant, a ringtone, an initial on gtalk. But no perfume. I will forget him fast. I must, because time is running out. He keeps me holding on, never saying, never committing. Giving me just enough, so that I don't move on

The year that was

It was a year of leavings and new beginnings, of wantings. A year of yearning. It was a year of fun. There was food and travel and sunsets without sunrises. It was a good year, full of laughter and warmth. It was the year I realized I need to grow up and that some people never do. 

It taught me to keep things simple and be easy-going, to not hold everyone up to a standard I myself cannot meet. I learnt a little more about men and a lot more about women. I learnt the beautiful art of initiative. I learnt how to be a friend. Regained lost friendships. I trusted. I went to the southern hemisphere of the earth and learnt what it felt like to truly pleasure another's soul. I let go of a 2 year old bad habit, after 6 months of hanging on. I hurt a man who hurt me and realized it's better to be hurt than to hurt. I fell in love with a child like never before.  

I lost touch with the most important part of me. I lost my centre. I mixed with loud and aggressive people. I complained. I didn't want to be alone, didn't want to miss out.

It was a great year, though. It was full, if nothing else, and blessed because of how fast it went by. 

Winter Mourning

I hadn't realised you weren’t coming with me. When you leaned in to kiss me goodbye, I was confused. You were the same, but surprising, somehow. There was a shift only I could perceive. You weren't coming with me today and only I knew what it meant.
As your arms around me loosened, I could feel you slipping away, not just from that moment. I didn’t know how to make you stay like that, how to control you. So I just stood there. Passively, like I did for the two years we loved each other. Passively, the way you hated.

My hands were freezing over the box you gave me, as you walked away. I was holding on to it as if it was you in there. My eyes were full. My heart felt empty. I knew somehow that it would be the last time I saw you. And it was, for 3 turbulent years. 

None the wiser.

It's not who I am. It's just what I pretend to do. Sometimes. 

It's what I claim to enjoy. It's what you know I hate. 

It's my worst nightmare. Or maybe not. 

It's my entire adult life. It's my father's dream for me. 

It's the crutch I lean on when I feel I'm failing everywhere else. 

It's what I call myself. 

It's my ticket out of here. 

It's everything I want to be, but not at all what I am. 

Wisdom - I

When you meet someone truly good, you feel like becoming a better person. A lot of people know this. I didn't. I finally understand what people mean when they say 'he/she brings out the best in me.'

haunted with each hearing of His softly spoken words

Every tear we shed, not in sadness, but in gratitude, understanding and peace beyond it, is Him pursuing us. 

When you cry, when you fall to your knees and rise up out of it renewed - your walk with God begins there. That's when you know, that's how I knew. And there was nothing complicated about it.

Because I love you. In my dreams.

I’m dreaming the wrong dream, the searing one where things aren’t as I’d like them to be. The dream in which there are no answers, only questions. There are no endings, just a continuing fervour that won’t stop and won’t finish and won’t peak. It hurts.

I’ll go deep into the blue, where raindrops are just a harmless blur. Where they’re not cold anymore and I can just about hear them fall on the surface. I’ll go beyond the blue, where the rain stops. I’ll lose myself and think of you. I’ll tell stories, my secrets. I’ll stop hiding, pretending. 

When I resurface, icy drops on my face, tears in my eyes - I’ll even come home to you. Where doors have no locks and we sleep in reckless abandon. Where trust is complete and love is abundant. Home to you, where the air is clean and our voices are alone. Where we never give in, never give up, never let go and never let in. Where we close our minds and our hearts. Where common sense prevails. 

I’m happy in my dream, where things are just so, where we’re in a circle of continuous wanting. Continuous need. Where there is no end, no beginning, and no peak. Where we stay till it hurts. Because that is when I love you the most. 

 

It has been good, you make it better

You make my mornings and my nights. You fill my afternoons with laughter and my evenings with quiet content.  In your manic moods, I find myself. Your unrest calms me, slows me down. You teach me to be more.

For V, who never lies.

I don't know if I have a stand on liars. I don't think I like being lied to, but there are some truths I'd rather not know. And do I lie? Yes. Unfortunately, I do. Do I believe an older person, a mentor, when they say they do not? No. I believe everyone lies. The extent is different, of course. The reasons are different.
Is it okay to lie to protect? I think I believe it is. If the sole result of that lie will be protecting another person, then yes, it's okay. But when we protect, we also cause ignorance. We keep people in the dark. We can't be sure that our lie didn't cause them to take or un-take a decision. There's always that risk.
I don't hate liars. I understand them. It scares me to admit that. Makes me seem wrong. My understanding of why people lie is mostly because they are afraid. Afraid of reactions to the truth. Afraid that the truth will get them in trouble, the truth will bore an audience, the truth will make them seem dull and irrelevant. And then there are lies without reason. Compulsive lies, made up to fill silences, those I do not understand.

He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house: he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight. Psalms. 

For S, who can't wait.

For the most part, we know right from wrong. Some things, though, are in-between. We love and un-love. We know there are lines that should not be crossed. We know we shouldn't, but we do. We disobey. And we know it's wrong. We get hurt, we come clean, we regret and learn.
Sometimes, we cross a line, without really crossing it. Like we plant a fantasy in someone's mind. We make them imagine. We imagine. We do it to those we know we'll never be with. We let these fools imagine that we'd actually consider loving them. We become the objects of their affection or their fantasies. Or they do it to us. Make us want them. It's a game that everyone plays. Everyone likes being wanted, being thought of. When we can't be desired by someone we desire, we settle for someone else. We get interested in those that really don't interest us. We get our fix.
But if you play with fire, you will get burned. Feigning affection is playing with fire. Letting yourself love the wrong person, is playing with fire.

A relationship on the brink

Some people just want to be miserable. No matter what you do for them or what you say, how you say it. Some people revel in misery, in their own misery, in the ability to blame it on others.
Sure, we all like a little drama sometimes. We enjoy an argument, enjoy someone validating us, reassuring us. But some people live for this. Some people always get the raw end of a deal. You can never make their day. You'll always have left something out, forgotten an invitation, cooked the wrong food, not dressed the part, looked too eager, asked the wrong question, answered with the wrong truth.
I know I'm moody. I know I throw tantrums. I know I crave attention. But I know when other people do it, too. It takes one to know one, after all. I know when I'm the normalizing factor and when the other person is completely out of line. I know too demanding when I see it, I know spoilt. I know unhappy and crabby, just as I know smug and I sure as hell know asshole.
The question is whether to put up with it. I want to, because I love. I love the good in some people, love their company, love the way they know me. I love the chance that something amazing could come of a simple friendship, that I could change the person.
But it makes me crazy. I can't rest, can't relax. Can't stop pacing. I question myself, feeling the need to apologise, the need to undo. I want to set things right and I go overboard. I want to hold on tighter, to make sure we're on the same page.
What I need to feel is the need to delete, to cut off. The need to remove (myself from this warped equation.)  I have all the drama of a bad relationship and none of the make-up sex, none of the accountability, none of the memories. For once, I have the raw end.

The one where there are no words left

''Go after her. Fuck, don't sit there and wait for her to call, go after her because that's what you should do if you love someone, don't wait for them to give you a sign cause it might never come, don't let people happen to you, don't let me happen to you, or her, she's not a fucking television show or tornado. There are people I might have loved had they gotten on the airplane or run down the street after me or called me up drunk at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now and because they cannot regret this and I always thought I'd be the only one doing crazy things for people who would never give enough of a fuck to do it back or to act like idiots or be entirely vulnerable and honest and making someone fall in love with you is easy and flying 3000 miles on four days notice because you can't just sit there and do nothing and breathe into telephones is not everyone's idea of love but it is the way I can recognize it because that is what I do. Go scream it and be with her in meaningful ways because that is beautiful and that is generous and that is what loving someone is, that is raw and that is unguarded, and that is all that is worth anything, really.''

Control - how to

Keep it simple and play it cool.

un-do

I want to erase words that were never written, unthink thoughts, untouch arms and unsee smiles.

It's non-negotiable, this, where I'm at. It's more than I asked for, far more than I can chew. It makes me feel old and tired, as if I've made too many mistakes already, as if I have none left on my account. Makes me feel irredeemable.

It's in your face, just get it already.

My worlds seem to be colliding. I hate when people get jealous. I hate what jealousy can do to a friend or a lover or even just an acquaintance. Sometimes, I know jealousy. It's plain and in your face. I see it for what it is.

Like today, when I told him about him. He was different immediately. He asked me a thousand things. Cross-questioned and questioned. The answers to his questions came fast and easily. Questions, I would have found offensive, if asked by someone else. But he knows the answers deep down and more than knows, he deserves them. But it was jealousy on his part that prompted the questions, maybe even a slight pang of regret. I saw it, I knew it. I felt it. I enjoyed it.

Sometimes though, I can't tell - can't tell why someone acts the way they do, can't tell if they're jealous or just hate me, if they love me or want my love to go away. Like my friend, C. The question of C being jealous of me or anything to do with my life never arose, until today, when someone suggested it.

Today when everything came crashing down on me. When I truly realised how much I depend on C, for his reassurance, his friendship and love. I realised it and showed it to him all in one breath. Showed it with such surety, that he reacted. He closed himself. And someone suggested that he's jealous. I don't believe he is. Is he always happy for me when good things happen to me? I don't believe he is. Doesn't qualify as jealousy. It could just be, and probably is just, a fear of someone or something familiar, moving away to better things - becoming busy with life and just not having the time of day.

I love him. It isn't love like that though, not the kind that comes with lust. I have considered that possibility, looked into it, argued for it and against it. I know it isn't that kind and can never be. It's just a comfortable love, of knowing that I have met my match. Knowing that this is me, in the flesh, just someone else's. I know he gets me, I know I get him. We share the same insecurities often and the realise the same things. Maybe, I'll never admit to this. Maybe, neither will he. I know he knows me and it is a lot like knowing himself.

I hate writing this because I know how it makes me sound. Like I believe I am someone to be envied. I do not believe this, on any count. I know my strengths, fairly well. And I know where I fall short all too well. I don't envy the person I portray myself to be. I don't envy the true me. I wouldn't.

Just jump.

It tires me to wait;

Exhausts me to hope.

Love or un-love.

It’s quietly comfortable,

To share a goal.

It burns to realize the possible answers

My questions to you;

Are for them and those to come

I already know you

I hate the games I have to play;

The power that must be got,

The sureness you are waiting for.

It tires me to wait;

Exhausts me to wonder

Tires me to question;

Exhausts me to plan

you confuse me.

There’s a hand on my forehead and an arm around my shoulder, my skin is burning and my eyes are almost orange from the sunshine. Tired and weepy, I look at you and can’t believe you’re the same person who said those things just a few hours ago. You look so warm and comforting, so welcoming, so protective. How are you so different now?
Now that it’s you and me, it’s not funny anymore. It’s not a game; I’m not your toy. It’s not a joke or a series of faux pas. In this moment we know each other, we just get it.It’s you and me…and an expanse of eighteen patches of perfect grass. Eighteen greens and a long walk -- you hand me a small white ball with something scribbled across its 250-odd dimples.
There it is, the phrase I love – the one I never told you about – my head reeling, I start to ask you how…
…my worlds collide. And now you’re gone, you’re not you anymore. We’re not alone now, surrounded by crowds, who don’t know or understand. By nosey know-it-alls, who want to save me from you... my joy, my salve, my sweet surrender. If only they knew how far I've fallen…

our first date, you weren't even single.

I don't know what I want. I remember being in this position about a year ago. Faced with almost the same complications and same questions. I took a leap of faith last time, and fell...hard..flat on my face. This time, something is holding me back...not something within me...something external. I would go for it again, it feels more exciting than the last time, more fun and much more dangerous. Except, this time the decision isn't in my hands...not yet anyway :-)
Maybe there are forces at work that I can't see, maybe it's him and maybe it's just me.
This last week has been a blur. I feel so happy to feel what I feel, but it's that kind of happiness you feel unsure about, the outcome of which may or may not be good. But just to feel like this, is different.
I wanted to decide whether I'm happy or unhappy or angry or sad. I think it's a new and happy feeling. I've decided not to worry about what comes of it. I've decided to embrace this for what it is and to take whatever comes, in my stride.

knock and the door shall be...

Something I read today, struck a nerve. Suppose we really found him. What if, He met us today? I know I’m not ready. I know there are things I’ve done that I haven’t been able to ask forgiveness for, mostly because I haven’t dealt with them actually happening.
In suggesting that for the most part, we’re playing around with the image of God, one of my favourite writers seems to have said the wisest thing.
Because really, what are we looking for when we say we search for God? A counselor, a friend? Forgiveness? Someone to thank? Someone to ask ‘why me?’ I know I search for different things in God, on different days. Comfort seems to be the word that encompasses all of them...
"But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."

[Fiction]

And so I thought of your room today.
Your lights are always on whenever I drive past and I wonder what you do in there all the time. I remember the first time you took me there, the way I felt. I was trying to hide myself in some way. Hide fear, hide scars, hide inexperience, hide drunkenness. I remember your smile, the one you’ve flashed me so often, and the one I shy away from every time I see it. Life feels surreal when I’m with you, like an excerpt from a racy novel. You don’t feel like the other people I meet. I look up to you in a different way. You constantly surprise me.
When we talk after, while you smoke a cigarette and ash it, I watch your fingers. I love feeling the sound of your voice fill my head. Sometimes I tune out the words and then it’s just a sound, a kind of music. I understand you, in so many ways. Your eccentricities all make sense to me.
When we talk before, I feel my stomach go into a knot. I feel my forehead moistening. I wonder what’ll happen and I wait. I even find that I hold my breath sometimes.
You’re always honest with me, sometimes subtly, sometimes brutally. I feel like you’re always careful not to hurt my feelings too much. You don’t like it when I play down my abilities, but when I big myself up, you break me.
We talk often – at dinners, on drives and on my terrace. We talk of our ideals, our dreams and how everything is so eff-ing wrong. We never talk about us though, and when we do, even in jest, I don’t say much. You say – we’re this and we’re that. I listen and smile, and nod. To an outsider, it may seem like I don’t think about our relationship, but in truth, I have analysed it, over-analysed it, dissected it, in every way possible.