Soulmates?? Nah.

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I am lost for words currently. I want to shriek out about how I feel and yet I have nothing of how to put it in words. I am trying, I am trying to talk to you. But mostly I feel very weird and uncertain about stuff. I feel stupid how you know nothing about me because you never ask and yet the word love springs out multiple times in each encounter. We are supposedly people who are very close and yet when I need you to understand stuff, I feel you act selfish and think only about yourself. I want to tell you about bruises and wounds and I don’t want you to make a fuss about it. Why are we so different, why? There is so much, and yet its like there is nothing.

I read a post that we shouldn’t feel the need to be fulfilled by another entity and I have grown out of that phase to a great extend , I know I am complete. But what about all that value addition I thought was possible? I see myself utterly confused.

What am I doing? Some days it feel I am pretending a whole circus out of my life with you.

Annoyance and hurt…… annoyance or hurt? lol

Too much inconvenience in life.


A drunk driver

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The word best in front of friend
Was like a red traffic light
On the roadside,
Tread carefully
For a drunk raging driver could still come,
and blow you away,
It was not for surety of safety,
It still screamed a warning.

My best friend will always be mine

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No words can describe,

the strength in letting go

but I wish, while I lasted

I was your strength

And now that I must bid farewell,

I wish I remain your best friend


#PROJECT2014: A POST A MONTH (April) : Even dreamers might end on a bitter note

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She was optimism

And I was the kind of pessimism,

That was acid on hope.

In being friends, I saw

the potential of a convert

But in her impatience

she saw eternal bondage.

#Project2014: A post a month (Feb) : Let’s not stay in contact anymore

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Yes, it was
a decision of mine,
I know
It takes away my right to whine.

But I like each day
to refresh my inbox for a stray,
Mail to make its appearance

It seems the people of their words,
Forfeit the rights to do much, explore much.
In our unspoken promise to uphold
honour, we lose the will to be bold

#Project2014: A post a month (Jan) : The story of the magical feeder and the 1st friendship

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Memories are intricate puzzling combination of inter related moments of past, that both bring about a strong wave of nostalgia and overwhelming joy that you are past some particularly difficult time in life. But what of memories that bring both these factors together, because then it is surely quite strange. Mostly for me, I hardly have any large collection of memories from anything before age of 12,  which often makes me feel like a MPD patient or a geriatric living backwards, only one with Alzheimer’s. However, all the memories I do have are either, too pleasant or just plainly the ones, which I keep so that I can supply myself a huge amount of self pity, to keep myself happy and superiors like all the self-help books advice, only not this way maybe, but beggars can’t be chooser right? (Oh well, now we are talking of a geriatric with Alzheimer’s and narcissism). Well, yeah, so the earliest memory is of both a loss and friendship. A friendship always demand a sacrifice, and a ritual where you have to do something to prove you are cool enough and I did pay a heavy price and that too at the age of 5. I tried to lie and escape, hide and change my timings or be fast enough to drink from my feeder, but then the neighborhood guys were always laughing behind closed doors, smirking and joking how I was still such a baby. It was a tie between the magical feeder and the boys, and ironically food lost. I guess for that reason, I am cursed and become the fat person I now am. So there were two brothers, let’s for ease sake, name them Z and H. In time, I realized, Z was more my kind, the most suitable image for both me and my parents as my first play date. I was the worst racer ever, I couldn’t run more than 1oo meters to save myself and thus the most easy target for kidnapping since I keep no mace (Oh damn me, I am like on a secret spilling spree or something, I just didn’t say that, forget it ). Z was a totally calm person, while H was the typical running and always-in-kind-of –a-hurry type of a person. So of course very soon H chose the older boys in the neighborhood to play with and I chose Z and Z chose to just sit at home and draw Disney princesses. Actually our friendship solidified because Z’s aunt was kind of my tutor as my mother was always too busy in house chores and my elder sister in ignoring me like she was supposed to and thus I was in dire need of tuitions. Z was very sweet, kind and helpful kind of a boy and I loved going over to his house and following him around or talking to him. I discovered this whole new creative side to the world, whenever he used to talk or show me something. I discovered something known as Disney princesses and have been obsessed about them ever since and the sketches of them dressed up in scrumptious silk and lustrous gems. We often used to go through the junk on my roof and for the first time I got to know about boomerang through him. The whole idea of a thing going whizzing by in air and coming back was just absolutely mind-blowing for me. We once came upon a stone shaped peculiarly and according to Z it looked almost like a boomerang and we tried throwing it and believing that it would bring some precious things on its way back, but the fat stone gathered no moss at all. We had hundred different conversations about building things and waiting for the rain to come so that it could fill up the deep pit type thing on my roof and we could jump and splash all we want in summer, with a swimming pool kind of experience. At that age, it was all so magical, to actually have a person to yourself because there were so many things to be shared and talked about. I can never forget the absolutely delicious noodles soup I used to have, made by his mother often, right in the kitchen on the small blue table especially for us kids, which was the highlight of the day and something I adored about her. We used to watch Indian horror shows, which I never actually saw without a pillow in case I could hide whenever an evil clown’s abduction or shrill piercing scream broke the silence and tension in the room, which was another reason to be called a baby, but I hugged the pillow closer because I didn’t want to die at that tender age of heart attack. This lead to a big scandal whereby my brother accused me of going to neighbor’s house for the sole purpose of watching cable TV which till that time was banned on me due to age factor, as I was the youngest, the baby of the family so every fun thing was off limit. This lead to a ban for some time, but then I convinced my mother that education could never be compromised on basis of mere jealous scandals. This friendship went on for some time and was strengthen as we three stood our ground against another neighborhood girl by forming a barrier against her and her brothers by holding hands while they were cycling and stopping them from coming in our portion of the street for some ludicrous reason I don’t even remember one sunny afternoon. At some point, my parents realized that I was too old to be friend with guys and the friendship came to an end and it was easier to drift apart because Z made no effort to hold onto it. He was quite happy in his magical world and it was enough for him I suppose, at that age. The last indirect contact with him consisted of a weird drawing in my garage throw from somewhere above, slipped through the window that connected our house which was probably some rite to give us both a way to finally move on.


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Dear friend,

Don’t make a minute’s mistake,

Don’t for a moment think,

That your secrets would lie deep within

The deep folds of my mind,

Safe and secure; unharmed.

I would in a minute divulge

In this blasphemy, I will secretly indulge

It’s only the fear, that once out

These secret might trap me

I don’t want to be

Disgraced by association