I’ve always been against the notion of “hard” love.
A love that does more harm than good to your soul is not the sort of love you should strive for. Like a lot of things being in love sounds very poetic but living “a life with the love that you want” is an entirely different concept.
There is a moment when you need to decide that there is no place for a love that makes life hard.
A moment where you need to recognize that toxicity is not a synonym for liberation.
Love is a poetic concept but it should not make you dwell in riddles for long
Give yourself time and maybe you will be lucky enough to forget.
Time and human distress travel in parallel paths. Time does not heal. Human beings just get better at tolerating it. You get conditioned to the pain, making it a habitual part of your existence that puts an unstable mind into a more stable state.
Human beings do not like an unstable state of mind. Time is relative to pain in the sense of making us more tolerable and later immune to what had hurt us before.
People don’t break you
Until or unless you show them the crack from where they can
At least if they take my soul, tonight
I can claim to die a happy man
Mostly, because i’ve lived a life with no regrets
And also because in this messed up world
I found someone like you
Someone, who can kiss me numb
Or give me heart ache of the dying sun
I was at a darbaar, couple weeks ago and this old woman who was sitting right next to me said something really beautiful that I added in my “quotes to live by”. She said,
“Khuda ko dhoond ne se pehlay khud ko dhoond lo”.
(Before finding God. Find yourself)
Sanity and my mind don’t get along that well.
My soul keeps knocking on the door but my heart won’t let it in.
Love and insanity anchored my gut.
I camouflaged the hurricane
As mild winter rain, instead.
You know your are dead but you feel your heart beating and your lungs breathing.
The curtains are closed and the shimmer of the day still peeks in to your dark abode. Under the layers of blanket, you’ve comforted yourself.
4 in the evening and you had another glass of whiskey, two pills to put you down because one never does the trick.
The voices from the street tone down as the drowsy state of mind engulfs you.
What a lucky son of a bitch I am, you think to yourself, after mastering the art of not needing people in my life..I’ve mastered the art of not giving a fuck about time as well.
So, underneath the sheets you pat yourself on the back and fade out to nothingness.
Today is officially cancelled.
I will consume you with the urgency of a last cigarette on a cold winter night.
My last, my savior and in the moment my one and only.
It is not like you have much choice when you miss them.
Those little gestures that made you feel special than ever. The universe seemed complete when they clutched your hand in a busy street so you know they would never leave you. Among the crowd you will always have them.
The way they put roses in your hair and jasmine in your wrist, they will wilt like all things do,but the essence will live on.
Sharing coffee on the terrace at 5 p.m while the sun gently sets taking away all the worries of the day with it.
Exchange of glances at a party.
Morning kisses infused in your bloodstream like heroin in your veins.
They engulf you, break down the walls you built up high to protect yourself and become the poison with no antidote.
You find yourself wishing on that tiny star, hoping and praying.
God I wish this to last forever and if it is a dream then never let me wake up.
People change and time changes.
You are made to suffer more than your poor bones can handle and suffer a pain that sets your veins blazing.
No pain killer can cure this ache, no morphine can numb it down.
Like it built up, it falls apart and slips away.
Within minutes, you find yourself on your knees trying to make sense of the broken pieces.
You try to fix something that is broken beyond repair and in the process those shards dig in deeper.
Bruise you and make you bleed.
It is then a struggle to fix yourself from there on onwards.
Put the pieces together and be yourself, again
Learn with time to live the way it is and put on a facade
Until, night creeps up and you miss them
It is not much of a choice when you miss them when the clock strikes five, now do you?