She does know

What is it like to be in love with him? She askedIMG_1917

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.

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Ineluctable facts of my life

The feelings have percolated to the surface. Here I am, face to face with the ineluctable facts about myself which I’ve refrained from acknowledging hitherto, for the fear of being too much or being too little.

I am an unpredictable person with different sides. It’s always an inadvertent revelation. What is it going to be? Which side of me are you going to see?

Most of the people believe that I am always chirpy, gloomy, incredibly shy and lost. They know me as the girl who gives evasive answers or someone who doesn’t answer at all, who is scared and light-hearted, doesn’t get attached to anyone and shrugs, feigning indifference. I seem to have a personality which can be easily defined in the first meeting if there’s never a second meeting and I am almost never taken seriously.

These are the labels that have been put on me but they have only hindered my approach at other things in life, at other labels. And I’ve accepted them as the harsh reality of my life, never raising my hand to question them but nodding whenever someone told me who I am. And not correcting them was the only thing which somehow invigorated me, gave me superiority over them.

But it’s true that I am a capricious being where the real me continually vacillates between the several different sides of my being and cannot handle not being taken seriously. I fall from grace with a loud thud and I take pleasure in depriving myself of happiness but deluge myself with it at other times. I make audacious attempts and I am courageous enough to start all over again at any point of time in life and dedicated enough to keep on going even after being told it’s not worth it. I am crazy, reckless, and indecisive. I’ll love you and I’ll hate you at the same time. I am North and South in one. I am the monsoon and the drought all in one. I am not renowned for my loquacity but sit with me over for a third cup of coffee and I’ll tell you. I wallow in silence but also know how to pull myself out of it.

There are layers which are slowly peeled off with time, by those are willing to do so. And I am aware of how some people may dislike me because of these baffling sides of me, people who’ll end up defining me with different adjectives.

I wish I could bring out the real me, utter my real feelings as instantly as I was put face to face with someone. But most of the conversations happen inside my brain, with the real me. Who is witty and charming, caring and comprehends every sentence said to her. I try though, but she just shrivels back inside when showed the slightest of movement from the other side, never persists but leaves me striving for it.

Only if there weren’t any people around or if there was only that one person around, she would break free and see the world herself, as she wants to see it and free from any sort of labels.

Communication: An Insuperable task

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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.