My darkness.

He did not remind me of big pretty things like the moon. He did not remind me of the sacrifices people have made for love. He did not  remind me of the stars lighting of the night sky, or the warmth of the campfire or the wolf howling for the moon. He wasn’t the night in shining armour saving me from this terrible terrible world. He wasn’t my prince charming, he did not kiss me back to life.

I have done all of that for myself. I did not need someone to fill those cracks in my heart, to make blood flood my cheeks, to clean those thoughts in my head. I did not need someone who made me feel incomplete to make me feel complete. Cause I know all that is bullshit. I am complete. I needed someone to stay. That is it. And sometimes, Lucifer does listen to you.

He was everything. His kiss was caffeine for me, waking up every cell of my body. His eyes nicotine for me, irresistible. His words had the effect of champagne, soft and sweet on happy occasions. On days when words failed him, his silence was Scotch, burning my throat. His laugh was weed that I always got high on. He was the drug I had at five in the morning, and the drinks I had at seven in the evening.

He reminded me of sunburns and dirty plates and empty boxes. He reminded me of sofas that have been jumped on too hard, and clubs where we made out. He reminded me of cassettes of old music, and books about war. He reminded me of jackets on a cold night, and kisses on a rainy day. He reminded me of movies we watched as we cuddled in a blanket too small for both of us.

He reminded me of sweat, shoulders and crumbs. He reminded me of conversations on things that don’t even exist. He reminded me of tan lines, dirty pillowcases and T-shirts. He reminded me of closed doors and lost keys and eyes too tired to stay open on the terrace. Not some wave moving back and forth hitting the shore or some light millions of miles away.

Yes, he was the conversation I had on the terrace as I put out my cigarette. He was the chest on which I lay my head, while cigarette buts and bra’s and shirts were thrown all around. He wasn’t some light, he was my darkness.

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Hope and caution. 

“If only you knew how terrified I am.” – Unknown

I’m the pieces of a puzzle no one wants to solve. Not even me. Why would I when it will only make an abstract image that makes no sense? Why would I when I’ve been told time and time again by my own heart that I am not worth it, that I am not good enough?

Fears reside in the darkest corners of our minds. They’re the monsters I fight. The demons I try to contain. They’re my invasions. I know I’m not perfect, and I know no one is, but I’m just a tad bit more imperfect than you, and that just haunts me.

I don’t know what makes me imperfect, but something does and I’m pretty sure people get annoyed when I talk too much about it. Every time I say something, I’m afraid that soemthing will go wrong. Every word of mine is wrapped in hope and caution.

I’m afraid. I’ve always been. And so when I’m asked about my story, I just smile like it’s no big deal and ask them to repeat theirs for the thousandth time, and I find joy in the subtle changes in the story that they make to make it more memorable and perfect. Every time they speak about scars, I close my eyes and feel the skin under my sleeves tingling with sensations of blood and pain. I smile and talk about how beautiful they look in their crop tops and funky hats. Every time I burst with excitement and say something stupid, I stay quiet and regret it for the rest of the day. Everytime I have a story to tell, or a new hobby to show, or just want someone, I just listen to music and find my solace in the pretty words and crazy beats.

Every time I am at a party, I dance a little softly and eat not at all, because I want to be invited the next time too. Every time they crack a joke that I don’t understand, I laugh anyway because I’m sure I’ll understand the next one. Every time someone shares their food, I ask twice and then confirm one last time before having the smallest piece I can find, and saying Thank you. I want to have more, but I wait for them to offer.

I dont have a best friend. Unless you consider 234 pages of a white notebook that I carry with me everywhere a friend. I don’t write diaries because I don’t understand the idea behind it. But I do write poetry which reflects my life as a beautiful world and me as a happy being. But sometimes, it’s sad and just not good enough. Quite like me.

They call it Atelophobia.

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The big bang theory.


This terrible world we live in, is beautiful.
Miracles are all around us. We are miracles. What else do we need to believe?

  1. It’ll take a second for the next big bang to wipe our existence, and yet every morning the sun colors the sky in hues of orange, yellow and blue. Every morning the world wakes up, and somehow, we all live. The sky turns orange everyday as birds chirp, and leaves rustle. And then it turns yellow as we breathe, and feel. And then the blues change, as we make choices to live out our story.
  2. Darkness is an inevitable part of light. Day in and day out, we lose faith and belief, and yet we never lose hope. Even when we are broken into a thousand and one shattered pieces, we still hold onto the tiniest sliver of hope that it will be better someday. Everything seems to go wrong, but we never do. The cosmic stars that made us always fall apart, but they never cease to fall apart forever.
  3. We are made of stars and comets and light. Our fingers are the shooting stars that were wished upon hundreds of years ago, and our eyes are cosmic dust that we think is beautiful. We are all different, for the stars in our body and the light in our hearts is not from one single galaxy. We are made up of millions of galaxies. And just like them, we are beautiful too.
  4. We can love. Among billions of souls that roam on this planet, we always find the lost pieces of the puzzle that we are. Friends, families or soul mates, we fit into their story and they fit into ours. We are all love stories, and poems that rhyme in no decided manner. We are infinities, and we don’t really care if ours is bigger or smaller. We are all the stories that overlap and we are the pen.
  5. We have flowers, stars, and beings so far beyond us that all they know is love. We have sunsets, and mountains that shout back our names. We have fragrances that awakens our desires, and we have each other. We have colors. We have feelings, and we have hearts.
  6. It’ll take a second for the next big bang  to wipe our existence, and yet every night the moon shines bright enough to let us shine too. The sky turns black with white spots that are just us waiting to be born again, a thousand years from now.

I know it’s terrible. But it’s beautiful too, all you have to do is find the perfect place for you.


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“And we created you in pairs.” – Qur’an 78:8

When the love of your life is on her knees, holding a promise of forever in the ring in her hand, and asks you to marry her, do you know what it means?

  • You’ll wake up every morning to find her sleeping beside you, or smiling at you with a warm coffee mug in her hand. And it will be routine to you, but you will smile anyway because you just love her so much. Every morning will be the same, but it’ll feel wonderful every single time anyway. You will be in love every morning, for the rest of your days.
  • Every lunch with her won’t give you butterflies but you will feel happy and alive every time she cracks a joke. She will repeat the joke again and again, and giggle endlessly, and you will be used to it. But you will laugh too, because she is undeniably weird and beautiful. (And well, the joke was funny.)
  • It’ll be an adventure. The two of you, hand in hand, will enter the jungle of happiness and insanity. You will love each other so much, and so often. The diamond on her finger will be the key to your happiness. It’ll mean forever. Commitment isn’t your strength but that’s what love is. Keeping the promise anyway. You will be thrilled every step of the way. Cross your heart and hope to die.

But it won’t always be butterflies and gardens.

  • You will see her cry, and you will feel devastated. You will realize that rubbing her shoulders won’t always comfort her, and that sometimes words just won’t be enough. And so, you will learn to hold her tight and close, and just stay. You will learn to just listen as she rants.
  • You will fight, and it won’t be easy. She really will be hurt, and sometimes you will shout at her anyway. She will shout back, and you will exchange mean words, but you will learn to apologize, and you will learn to forgive.
  • Someday, you will wake up and she won’t be there. And you will wait for her to come back, and call her whenever you can. You will realize that without her, your life is a mess. And you will be scared of losing her. She will come back almost every time, and make you the happiest you ever thought you could be. But when she does not, you will be the lost kid in the jungle. Breathing, but dead anyway.

So if you love her, if you can promise to stay after seeing every shade of her because you will, if you can assure her to always stay, then say yes. Because even though there are ups and downs, you will be in love and it’ll feel so damn amazing, that you will forget to breathe and start living.

And anyway, when Ross does it thrice, you know there is something addictive about it. Say yes, you fool.

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This post is completely about me.

“Souls tend to go back to what feels like home.” – N.R. Hart

Home is the nicest word there is, insisted Laura Wilder.

Home isn’t always four painted walls and a cozy bed. And it isn’t always two warm arms and a beating heart. It can be anything.

I’ve been shifting from city to city all my life. Sometimes, even countries. And so I’ve made a home that has walls made with memories and painted with a tint of nostalgia. Michelle K said ‘Nostalgia is a dirty liar that insists things were better than they seemed’. I don’t mind lies anymore.  Here is a small and brief glimpse into my home.

  1. My family and I were walking back to my apartment, giggling and talking about songs as we licked on our ice-creams. The walk from Baskin Robbins wasn’t a long one. So, back in 2010-11, 10 year old me did not care about anything except the ice-cream that kept melting and dripping from the sides of my cone. As my parents walked behind me, and we were less than twenty steps from our building, I decided to try and stop the dripping by licking the cream. As I did, the scoop came right off the cone and fell down. I was left with an empty cone and a family that just could not stop laughing.
  2. Two years and a different country later, the first day of school in India really terrified me. Of course I had been here before, when I was in first grade, but a lot changes in six years. I took the bus to school, anticipating what the day could possibly be like, all the way to the school. I met my class teacher and she took me to my classroom where thirty students literally shout my name out when I entered. I remember the big smile on my face as I sat down next to someone. The same day, a few hours later, when almost everyone had left, I took out my lunch. A yellow lays. As soon as I opened it, a few students come and share it with me. I found one of my best friends that day.
  3. By the time I finished my first terms in grade eighth, me and my best friend had started having sleepovers every night. We basically lived at each others places. Surprising our mothers daily (Although, they weren’t), playing every possible sport, and doing any thing that could push us over the edge and into the category of clinically crazy.
  4. 2008 – we shifted. 2012 – we shifted. 2015 – we shifted. Aren’t these memories too?

Home for me was four colorful people and a lazy (also, crazy) day out. Home for me was a bunch of warm giggles and a throbbing rush of blood to our cheeks. Home for me was a constant blur of memories, and random pauses. I miss every place I have been to. Although I miss the last one the most.

Now I know all of this might mean nothing to you. But it does to me, and as I promised, I’d like you to know me for the person I am along with the words I write. This is part of the infinity I am. Find your home. Build the next curve of your infinity. And when you are done, don’t stop. We are the infinite spiral of space, with no end at all.

“If we were meant to stay in one place, we’d have roots instead of feet.” – Rachel Wolchin

Bless this home ∞

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