Flowers For A Grave

We never did say goodbye.

That’s what gets to me. Everything about this feels wrong.

Especially the fact that I’m counting on this piece to tell you what I can’t bring myself to.

It’s ironic how it went from when I could hit you up with anything just a month ago to this blankness.

This gaping void that widens the more I consider crossing it.

 

Just a month. What ever did happen?

 

I did get busy.

I got as busy as I could to hide. Conveniently.

I needed the space to stop thinking about how I was betraying you.

If having feelings is a perfectly natural instinct that people cannot avoid, so must be not reciprocating.

And I can’t.

This shouldn’t have to be this hard. Read more

OLIVE

There’s a blessing to your eyes

With a dainty face, the opposite of shy

The wispy flyaways, long lashes

Flutter just so slightly,

Graceful like a Knightley

In an Oscar nominated film

She wouldn’t watch.

 

The peace on her face, the expression lacking

Everything, it’s so easy to fall for her-

You should, it’s a treat to see

A sleep-struck friend. My sleep-struck friend.

 

Olive blanket, pale glow of fair skin

Speckled with red pimples, but you’ll still love her

Closed eyes that you instinctively know are pretty,

Thick hair scattered over an olive pillow.

Awake, it’s a whole new scenario.

 

You still want to be her friend though,

it’s still a treat to behold a pretty face and figure,

This time, the face is rife with irritation

And amusement and teasing glints

As she tries not at all to be cool

 

Authenticity suits her, just like her clothes

Custom made and perfectly fitted

The colours complementing her personality,

Equally vivid and mesmerizing

Carried effortlessly.

 

You want to be her friend- she’s a perfect catch

Moody and lazy and pretty and kind

Caring, funny, manipulative, short fused

It’s a joy to behold her, a tall task to keep her

But you’re gonna wanna try.

 

 

As hard as she can test your nerves

As hard as her games hit you

As hard as your elation can fall,

It’s an improvement to not knowing her

It’s a privilege to know her

It’s worth taking all those pictures,

Not being in any one,

It’s a far cry from misery, it’s worth a picture credit

At least.

And her company.

 

But when you see her pretty, blank face

Sleeping soundly, the pride lost

You will wonder what changes

When the delicate eyes flutter open.

(Almost fiction, inspired by the truly unique CP. 🙂 )

Visit BlogAdda.com to discover Indian blogs

Mourning A Loss

Okay, so this is what happened to me last week.

I was doing some much needed cleaning and sorting in my home (because I was on a new year, new me! kind of high) and I found tons of stuff that transported me straight to 10 years ago. It’s a little scary for me to realize I’d been hoarding books and games since that innocent little age and that it’s been 10 whole years since I’d begun properly reading. I was a little overwhelmed by the quantity of my selfishness and the amount of support my reading habit had obviously been benefitted by- so thank you everybody for spoiling me as a kid.

The weirder aspect of memories gushing is the distinctive feeling of nostalgia- I had no real experience of that until I came face to face with the objects that literally made my life complete then- and nostalgia has such a stand out flavour among all the other emotions! It’s a blend of welcome realizations, filled with the regret for the quick passage of time, the illusion of peace and quiet and utter satisfaction (that only a poor memory can support because I don’t believe anybody had that peaceful a life, as quiet a life as they wax poetic about while reminiscing about their childhood) and the joy of uncovering the secrets of your younger self- someone you’ve obviously grown up from but didn’t realize when exactly you changed so drastically.

Read more