What is it like to be in love with him? She asked

It’s like being connected to a future which is only possible if the present were not present. Possible only if reality separated itself from what is real; from the present. And one of the many inevitable facts of life is learning that past, present and future are inseparable. The present merely stands on the hopes of the future and exists on the learning’s of the past: the atonements, failures you overcame and achievements you made. Past is the one that you’re drawn to every millisecond, and if you’re lucky, it’s only the good and the bad which reminds you of it and looking back on it, you're met with a thousand different ways you could've ended something or begun something beautiful. 

But coming back to the question, it’s a song which never knows its ending.

It’s the fingers trembling over the guitar when you first start learning it. In the beginning, the chord is strummed harder than you intentionally want to strum it and every note is held tightly until your fingers start to hurt, your hand is stiff, the plectrum is held tightly, you’re struggling and there is only noise to be heard. When you’re not a beginner anymore, the chord is strummed softly and you can hear every note and it sounds beautiful. Your right hand loosens up, it becomes acclimatized to the plectrum and your left hand becomes acclimatized to the fret board.

But why am I comparing Love to learning the Guitar? Because it is so much similar to it, as in the beginning, you’re not sure how to handle it; you’re not even sure about what it is, so you wear your heart on your sleeve. You’re afraid if you don’t hold onto it tightly, the feeling could go away and you might lose all the desire. But when things start getting clearer and you know what it is, you hold onto it faintly, otherwise, you might destroy it (Broken strings, anyone?).

It’s constantly searching the eyes, looking for some kind of revelation. And you stay submerged in them for a while, but the answers never surface the eyes.

It’s like living in a country you don’t know the language of. It’s that eloquent word which you never use in a conversation, because you never get the opportunity.

It’s as if you’ve been given your favourite book to read for one and the last time. So you read between the lines, you hang on to every word and memorize your favourite quotes and before finishing it, you take your time. You take all the time you need. And when you do finish it, you know for a fact that you can’t ever read it again or touch it again. All you have of it is all you’ll ever have of it. The words engraved in your skin, the smell of it at the tip of your nose, the texture of it felt at your fingertips, you have whatever you could take from it but you’ll never have the real thing.

What’s felt in the heart can’t be fathomed into words really. Only if I could somehow show how I feel, you know, like trap my every sensation and every glance I steal in the direction of it, a place where the butterflies like to flutter their wings to.

Like the air, I can only feel it. I can’t touch it.

It’s the dark fervour of a stormy night; it’s the colourful and ceremonious validation of the flowers during spring time.

It’s affection on Monday, confusion on Tuesday, love on Wednesday, hatred on Thursday, hope on Friday, love on Saturday, and confusion on Sunday all over again. It is all or nothing; really, it is a hundred different feelings on Tuesday and emptiness on Thursday. But I know it’s not going anywhere because the feelings keep coming back to me like a Boomerang, felt harder than it did the last time it hit me.

But people fall in love with people they can’t have, all the time. She said

I know.

Voyage

I must travel,

travel on the untrodden snow

stopping to make snow angels,

for I am gloomy.

I must travel,

travel to those western islands

whose names I know,

but know nothing else of them.

 

I must see all the flowers there are

-Erythrina, balsam, touch-me-not and jasmine

blooming on the roadside

I haven't been to.

I am aching to travel,

to breathe in its pure serene,

I am aching for the sweet air of Alaska,

and for the swim into the Baltic sea.

I must travel,

for I am exhausted.

If I dont travel,

I am afraid i'll go mad

And if I do,

I won’t be there for the wild sunrise in milan,

to see the magnificent scenery of St. Lucia

or to see the Murano glass of Murano

I dream of travelling, on open roads

when the moon is high

and the sun is low

where I often lie awake on the silent shore.

Communication: An insuperable task

Communication, an involuntary task I’ve got to deal with everyday. So unconsciously I slur out the words that don’t need to be said, the words that are laughed upon. I avoid everyone; no one wants to be a part of my predicament.  I scream words in my mind, so eloquent and beautiful that I started walking gracefully as if I was graceful. I’d spent a lot of lonely days with myself, enunciating beautiful words which I only used in my dreams, impressing the world with my grace. But I was graceless. My friends thought it was funny because they could not hear what I heard. And in that moment I wished my father had taught me how to be bold. I wanted to be someone whose soul never wavered, but it did, repeatedly due to the insulation.

 I tried to say the words I immensely repeated in my head while they laughed. I thought if I hurry up and speak fast, some words might make their way outside and they would stop laughing. But to my consternation, all that came out was a little puff of wind and some little words that I remembered learning from my parents. What didn’t come out was the billowing smoke and what they didn’t hear were the explosions of magniloquence inside of me. I failed but gazed upfront, past them, to infinity.

He does know

In the middle of a hot sunny day

On a big boat around the bay

Your eyes will follow a stream

It’ll look familiar to you from a dream

She’ll be sitting there, lost in introspection

Looking at her, you’ll feel a connection

It will remind you of your first love

The one that you were so proud of

You’ll reach out to her to have a closer look

In her own habitat she’ll be,

 With nothing but just a book

Her gleaming hazel eyes will meet yours

She has known you all her life, she’ll ensure

You’ll be taken aback, that’s for sure

Is this the first love the second time, are you sure?

But when your mind collides with hers, you’ll know

That it’s the first love indeed, don’t let this go

Unspoken

There's something I've been meaning to say,

It has always been at the tip of my tongue.

Did strike me when I saw you the other day,

but I ran and left the words unsung.

Your smile still lingers in my mind

and it won't seem to go away.

It's what I think about all the time

and wish I could see it every day!

But you can see it in my eyes,

in the words unspoken during the day.

Getting caught in surprise,

while stealing glances at your way.

If there's still time or ever will be,

I'll tell you when I see you again,

what all you meant to me.

But the unspoken words are never said,
so the desire fades away.
Seasons change, green becomes red
If nothing lasts forever, why don't the feelings go away?

A midnightsummer night's dream

Art is my personal form of escapism

I was a kid and I was happy

I came up with is owl . It was my first, um what i would like to call -good? black and white sketch.. I really like it! (i don't have it anymore. Bummer) And my friends were so generous and wonderful towards this art! They encourage me! People encourage me. So, yeah, i started making whatever designs on it using a black staedtler and i won't go to into details because.. i don't know how to.

Here it is! I named it Owly. And i think it's ok. It's not that bad for a person who was happy and had nothing to worry about.. idk..

                                                                                                                                            
Owly