there’s the strong smell of coffee and
faint traces of you mingling
in every breath i take –
all-too-familiar and so sweetly homey –
i’m missing you but
i’m feeling whole and not holes
in my heart
everything is the right colour and
with a rosy glow and one deep breath out later
life is fine again.
it’s been nine years since I started writing-writing, creativity spilling onto blank pages, lines and rows and sheets of blue ink the proudest achievement of my life. the joys of holding well-worn, crumpled papers were but a childhood novelty, and faded along with the rest of my childhood. i didn’t write afterwards. it’s been four years since i rediscovered writing; this time, i started typing-writing, my feelings spilling into pixels on a screen. jagged lines of black text became my new aesthetic. i fell in love with how i could make something out of nothing. how broken sentences could read so beautifully fluid. how my broken heart mended with the more sentences i broke. i naively thought, i can write. it’s been six months since i realised i can’t write anymore. words were the stars in the sky when my world was dark and when i fell in love again the streaming sunshine broke both the night and my writing. and so my broken heart healed and as i said goodbye to the hurt and longing i also waved my words away. i now think in feelings and colours and the symbol-numbers of science but not in words. i can’t speak coherently and i bite back all the different forms of words i want to use to express the same idea and i struggle to form a simple sentence. i can’t write anymore, but i’m sure i will find the words again, the precious gems tucked away in the dark corners of this new sunlit world.
don’t paint me with a single stroke of a brush –
i may be insignificant in the divine plan of the universe,
but just one dot in a drawing?
i am more than that.
and don’t reduce me to the few
recycled adjectives that work in shifts, printed
neatly on my report cards,
because i am more than that;
more than the words i write and
my hobbies and
all the weird hand gestures i make.
i am the feeling you get when you’re around me and
the memories you make when you’re with me and
the thinkings and habits you’ve picked up from me.
i am an individual,
distinctly different from you and you and you and
unique and ordinary all at the same time.
so don’t just put me down in your mind as ‘that _____ girl’,
and don’t diminish me to a one-dimensional description,
because i am so much more than that.
brisk wind blows and
settles on my cheek,
it’s oddly dark around
and there’s time to kill
I tilt my head back
and stare at the sky.
a steamy breath of warm air
I start to count the stars:
one here, over there, three
in a row
and I don’t feel so alone
in the prickling pain peppered across your body
the tiny aches nagging the back of your mind
the utter exhaustion tugging the corners of your consciousness
a reminder; you’re still alive
a confirmation; you’re still fighting
above all, you find a reason:
another picturesque dusk
but the lights are softer today
twinkling and smiling above
a stretch of sea
shades of silhouetted mountains
yet to blend into the sky
bottled up feelings spill
and dissolve into the landscape
only peace remains
Continue reading twilight thoughts pt.2
times like these when the
night is closing in on a fast
my words are broken and so is my heart
the light has faded and in my eyes too:
shrouded in shadows far
from glimmering lights that only
taunt unspoken desires
to travel under coloured skies
chimes of laughter and subtle love
i just want (to get)