Half.

Anxiety,
Hope, and
A few wishes to elope.
The glass was half-full.
Love,
Sunrays, and
A few reasons to stay.
The glass was half-empty.
I picked it up,
Wondering
Questioning
Which one was more important?
I placed it
On the table
and smiled.
What mattered was,
I was the one
who was pouring
and
it was wine.
It’s meant to be
Half-full, and
Half-empty.
And so are we.


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Related post : Hearts

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A pack of color pencils.

“Humans are fragile creatures made up of broken hearts and broken promises.” – Unknown

The water at the end of the dessert. That is what a promise is made of. It’s not real.

  1. Young Rue thought that Santa would send a present this year too. She had been a good girl. She had been nice to every one, and had done all her work. Every year she waited for a box wrapped in red paper with a small paper that read “As promised.” She had a deal with Santa. She had promised to be a good girl, and in return he had promised to bring her some of her favorite chocolates and new toys. She ran out of her room as soon as she woke up, but found no presents. Had she not been a good girl, or was Santa biased against orphans?
  2. Rue learned about how words could be carved into promises as she grew older. But she believed in people anyway. When he promised to be there for her every time she shattered into pieces, she smiled. She knew he would. But when everything around her crumbled, her life was a mess like the mascara flowing down her cheek, and she was drowning log in the high tide, he vanished like the sun on a winter day. Another empty promise, another broken heart, another normal day.
  3. With time, her words lost their meaning. She stopped believing, and forgot to keep her promises. She handed out assurances and promises like a pack of color pencils that would make your life colorful. But only while it lasted. And then she failed to do what she said, show what she meant, and be what she wanted. The colors ran out, and the pack was empty. A hole in her heart was yearning for someone to remind her what promises really are. Yearning for someone to make her believe.
  4. On a summer morning, she found the person looking at her through a dirty mirror. Brown eyes and dark hair with a new pack of color pencils in her hand.

Empty promises will break you. But you’ll always have at least one person who can love you. Be your own pack of color pencils. Look for the sword.

“She wasn’t waiting for a knight. She was waiting for a sword.” – Atticus


Previous post : Love thyself.
Related post : The thin line.

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Cinderella’s shoes.

“Upon the palms of my hand, I have written your name.”  – Isaiah 49:16

He had never felt the warmth of her fingers before. He had anticipated it to be like the warm sun on a cold morning, something that would make him shiver and smile. He had imagined it to be like hot coffee, the softest quilt, and the rush of caffeine in his veins. He pictured it to be normal, with a shade of love. It was nothing like it.

Late at night, as they looked at each other, too tired to say anything, he touched her face. His fingers trailed on her skin, as he touched her cheeks. They were cold and he would want it no other way. He held her face and looked at her as shivers ran through him. And then she touched his face. Her fingers trailed on his skin. They were cold and he would want it no other way. Everything inside him froze, except where she held him. He felt no rush of blood, and he could feel her fingers getting colder. And he liked it. It was like walking toward the sunset.

He placed his hand on top of hers, and let the fingers intertwine. They fit like puzzle pieces. The cold was slowly ebbing away. The warmth was returning to their fingers, their cheeks were getting redder, and their eyes were locked onto each other. It was 3:04 A.M. and he remembered something. “Nothing good happens after 2 A.M.” And he knew he was screwed. And he was happy.

They say hands are like Cinderella’s shoes.
They say hands are magical.
They say hands are what makes tomorrows.
With her hand in mine, I think I had more than just tomorrows.

This wasn’t normal, with a shade of love. This was love, with a shade of insanity. The sun was setting.

“People fall in love in mysterious ways. Maybe just the touch of a hand.” – Ed Sheeran


Previous post : The fallen star.
Related post : Midnight.

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A ghost with a beating heart

I’ve been asked
‘Are you okay?’
Way too many times.
And I’ve answered
Way too many times
‘I am fine.’
My voice has been firm
Quite unlike my smile
That trembles
For just a little while
But manages to lie.
I try.
There are no cuts
On my hand,
And no dust
On my shoulder.
It’s just
My damn eyes.
They cannot seem to lie.
I’ve been asked
Way too many times
I’m tired.
But I’ve answered
Every single time
‘I am fine.’


Previous post : The war has ended.
Related post : A necklace of hope.

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My happy place

“Dance with the water,
move with the sea.
let the rhythm of the water
set your soul free.” – Christy Ann Martine

The warm smell of summer,
The heat of the sand,
Breeze mixed with splashes
Of water and calm.
The waves moving back and forth
Becoming a metaphor all along.
The clear water
Washing away my anxiety,
My fears, and
My thoughts
Becoming a metaphor all along.
Blue above my head,
Blue under my feet.
Telling me what life is.
It’s cold water and
Scorching heat.
It made me happy,
It made the words inside me happy,
Becoming a metaphor all along.


Previous post : The thin line.
Related post : A ghost with a beating heart

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