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I finally found a man who has the two parts I look for most in a man, and that too he has them functioning well. One, ears that listen and two shoulders that let people lean on them. Truly such a man is an endangered species.
When dreams begin to materialize the distance between reality and fantasy is so thin and so precarious.. I don’t understand this joy because it is not something I can recognize with the existing patterns in my memory.
It took you so long… I am thankful everything else got screwed up. I like the rescue boat more than the Titanic.
Dedicated to: V
I was just bony hands as cold as a winter pole
You held a warm stone out new flowing blood to hold
Oh what a contrast you were
To the brutes in the halls
My timid young fingers held a decent animal.
Over the ramparts you tossed
The scent of your skin and some foreign flowers
Tied to a brick
Sweet as a song
The years have been short but the days were long.
Cool of a temperate breeze from dark skies to wet grass
We fell in a field it seems now a thousand summers passed
When our kite lines first crossed
We tied them into knots
And to finally fly apart
We had to cut them off.
Since then it’s been a book you read in reverse
So you understand less as the pages turn
Or a movie so crass
And awkardly cast
That even I could be the star.
I don’t look back as much as a rule
And all this way before murder was cool
But your memory is here and I’d like it to stay
Warm light on a winter day.
Over the ramparts you tossed
The scent of your skin and some foreign flowers
Tied to a brick
Sweet as a song
The years have been short but the days go slowly by
Two loose kites falling from the sky
Drawn to the ground and an end to flight.
…and you can’t see it if you’re reading the RSS feed! 
The charade is over. The mask is too heavy and cumbersome. I am throwing it away tonight. It has once again become important for me to write. I remember that I once threw God away and I have not gone back to it ever. I confess. I cannot threw my writing away. It is a survival exercise.
I used to inhabit a little beautiful world where a few of my friends flitted by. They brought in some parchment for me to write poems on. They brought me bottles of ink and lots of love. I had an imaginary love. It was firewood. The phoenix has gone through so many phases and has evolved into a bird of paradise. Life might be happy. Yet, life is empty. I think, nay, I feel that the earlier world was more beautiful even though I was less happier than I am now. I don’t like happiness. It is not my natural state of being. It is a form of imposition.
I want my sad, moonlit, bleeding world back. I want all my dreams back. I want my imaginary home and hearth. I want my phoenix raiser back. I want my hibernating dreams to resurrect and jostle around me like apparitions of a sweet-smelling past. I want love back. I want my desolation back. I want my writing to be my refuge. I want my escapism back. I want my innocence back. I want my vulnerability back. I want my intense, melancholic, solitary existence back. I want my fantasies back.
I want the moon children and meaninglessness. I want the absurdity. I want the broken souvenirs and the dry leaves. I want the wilting fragrance of a dying rose. I want breathing. I want rain. I want my conviction. I want the extravagance in imagery. I want the death and the resurrection. I want all my wants back.
I sing a requiem to reality and I resuscitate my dreams tonight. My exotic, impossible, flamboyant, exaggerated dreams are returning to me this moment. They are flitting in through the windows like little fire flies. I wish to never die again.
There is something devastatingly romantic about deromanticization.
I say “I love you” and it sounds cliched. Ugly and repetitive. Contrived.
I say “I don’t love you any more” and the pain in it intensifies the contradiction in my statement.
This is how women talk.
Where Does Love Go When It Dies? – Def Leppard
Could you ever steal a prayer to deny your god?
Could you ever buy your love and not count the cost?
Could you ever take a life when all was lost?
And would it ever be enough?
Could you bite the hand that feeds and then ask for more?
Could you kiss the wound that bleeds spit it on the floor?
Could you open up your heart then close the door?
And would it ever be enough?
Every word you whisper
All the tears you hide
You die for love when it’s alive
But where does love go when it dies?
If you came across your dream would you walk on by?
Hold a candle to the wind and just let it die?
And is there room inside your mind for one more try?
And would it ever be enough?
I watch the time go rushing by it’s like an ocean wave
Showing you no mercy throwing dirt upon your grave
You’re drowning in the darkness and you’re blinded by the light
And there ain’t no prayer that’s gonna save you now
If you woke up from your sleep blood on your hands
Would you wash the pain away no one understands?
There must be someone out there who can help you breathe again
And would it ever be enough?
He disarms her before hurting her.
There are little quadrants of her mind which are sensitive to love. She hides them because they are still healing from earlier times. And she trusts him to feel the scars and to understand that they hurt. Yet he forgets. And he unwittingly opens an old scar. Ones she wants to believe have healed already. Ones she applies affirmations upon. Scars that reduce her to a little worthless entity when she is all by herself. Scars that are her fears. Her insecurities. Her emotional anomalies. Vulnerabilities. She is not mentally healthy. And by blaming her for it, you’re not going to heal her. By rejecting her for it, you’re not going to heal her. By leaving the little kitten out in the cold, you’re not going to teach her to endure. She will probably die there. Sometimes people need blankets of love. It is not wrong to ask. It is not wrong to be emotionally dependent. It is not wrong to lean on someone. It is not wrong to kneel down and tell someone you love them. It is not wrong to put away your prejudices and sit on the ground. It is not wrong to let them do what they want to do, if they badly need it, even if years of schooling have taught you that it is not orthodox. Burn your conditioning and fears when you step into the realm of love. Here everything is fair.
I could have gone to my school if I wanted rules. I could have gone to a court if I wanted laws. I could have gone to a lonely room and talked to myself, if all I wanted to hear was my own voice. I could have gone to a room full of strangers if I wanted to be left alone. But, why did I come to you? What have you got in you that I need? Just think. Please think. Because all my future hopes hang on to your willingness to think about this. If you refuse, then I will once again be out in the cold. Among strangers and begging for warmth. I respect all your need for space, time and privacy. Yet, this is a request. For this short period, when our lives intersected, this is all I ask of you. I don’t want expensive gifts. I don’t even want to interfere into your real life. I just want a chance. I think I deserve it. I think I deserve to be trashed after you think through it and are convinced about it. I don’t want you to trash me the way he did, overnight, without second thought, based on his prejudices, forgetting all that I gave, forgetting how long it would take for me to recover, how he hurt me. I don’t want that story to repeat. I certainly know you have more kindness in your heart than him. Without hurting your self-respect or mine, I ask for this one last wish to be fulfilled. Please put aside some time for this little person who appeared in your life, for whatever reasons. I have buried my anger. I have buried my prejudices. I have no ego. I am ready to talk. I am ready to answer your questions. I am ready to accept your judgments if they are reasonable and well thought out. I am ready to end it silently without adding any drama to it. I am ready to give it a solemn funeral. Yet, let the death be complete and peaceful.
