The beauty of pain is that it seeps into you slowly. It will hurt a lot in the beginning, little later it would sting every waking moment, and then it will ever so slightly pinch and before you know it, you are breathing pain. It becomes this familiar thing to you. You don’t demonstrate any emotions to it. You don’t feel the restlessness anymore. Your face is all bland. You’re all like….dear pain! Come hither, be my guest. Doesn’t matter any more. It’s not that you don’t want to be happy. Yes you do. You try. But that whacky little piece stays. What do you do? Give it space. Freedom. Time. Let it in. And one day without your permission, it will be out.
Does it help, if I admit that I miss you at molecular level. Or if I say you are snatching away my nights. Does my abnormality resulting from your silence give you relief. Should I mention the constant residual uneasiness you have bequeathed upon me. I don’t find the need to check my cell phone these days. I don’t ponder lately on how I look in front of the mirror. Couldn’t you beguile me a little less? Couldn’t you have loved me a little fainter? Why was the passion required. Were those unrestrained talks really necessary. I am on a thin line between whether I want to recover from you or not. I fear nothing would match up to you and when it does, I would fear forgetting you. Mind isn’t ready to stack you as a thing of the past. You might be indifferent. You might have moved on. You might be yearning. You might have come in terms. You might be struggling too. I have no way to find. For a moment I wish I was little more self obsessed so I could think less of you. Love and the trepidation it brings along!
Then again, I don’t want us to be uncertain. Paddling with insecurities. I will accept our fall. I will embrace your absence in my bones, make it a part of living. Life shouldn’t stop on incomplete stories. We’ll be fine, you and I. Our story, short, romantic, fervent, incomplete, beautiful, sad; but our’s at the end.
Silence never intrigued me.
Silence was comforting with a close friend. Silence was awkward with a stranger. Silence was an accomplice when sitting alone. Silence was beautiful amidst verdure. Silence was my food for thought. Silence was one of my character traits. It never captured my attention. Never boggled my mind. Never seemed out-of-place. Never stung.
But your silence, it wrenches my heart. Silence was never, ever, so deafening before.
I am going.
I won’t see you now.
We are not meant to be.
It is not going to happen.
No. Nada. Nah. Never. Ever.
Don’t tell me things I already know.
Tell me how beautiful I look with those brown eyes.
Tell me what tickles your fantasy.
Tell me your childhood stories.
Tell me a song you like.
Tell me you will miss me.
Tell me to smile.
It’s okay to not feel so great at some days. It’s okay if your morning wasn’t all spruced up. It’s no big deal if some barely acquainted person said something to prick your nerves. It’s not a good hair day, still manageable. You skipped breakfast today, go have a heavy dinner. Work troubling you, work less for today. Your phone is surprisingly quite, just keep it aside. Your cloth got stuck on a nail, darn it, just a material possession. Too much rain? Lay low for a while. Friends losing touch, give them a call. People disappointing you, expect lower will you? It’s okay to be dull on some days. It’s okay to not feel great all the time. After all, it’s just a day. Will pass like any other.
#on one such days…
Love is that, you don’t say much but unwarily shows in your eyes.
Love is what tests your might, when everything is asunder and nothing is right.
Love is when you see their name and a smile weaves on your face.
Love is in those lonely walks and how it craves you to death for their company.
Love is in those sleepless nights.
Love is abound when you secretly cry.
Love is what surpasses time.
Love is intact even when distances arrive.
Love is in every prayer you hymn.
Love is when you say nothing outside but feel a zillion things inside.
Love is when those fidgety fingers don’t listen to your mind.
Love is in your words.
Love is in the silence.
Love is poetic.
Love is painful.
Love fails and Love perseveres.
Love is beautiful. Love is equally fucked up.
Love is crazy, moody, sweet, strong, emotional, foolish and on and on and on…
To understand what love is, you have to be in love!
P.S. Came across this quote by chance and it touched those chords inside me.