The lost BFF II- It's going to take some getting over..

Once you've been hurt, it's hard to get attached again. When your hearts broken, its hard to trust again.
We broke up a few months again, but it still hurts.
It starts with a simple question- "Who's your best friend in the whole world?" ............... and I'm blank. No answer.
Cos no one can ever take her place. We've been together for eight years, and though I had accepted the breakup gracefull, I can't help but think of her every time I am forced to contemplate the word "best friend"
We've shared a lot with each other, been through a lot together, trusted each other with our deepest, darkest secrets. and now, there's a big hole in my heart. Empty space she's left behind.
I mean, I have lots of friends. I'm not dying of a broken heart, but I still miss her. She's what you can call my first love- never forgotten.
I've learned to be brave about loss, and get over attachments, but sometimes there's too much left unsaid, so many memories left halfway. Too many regrets.
I cry. Shit happens, and it's okay to cry.
It's a lot of hurt. And it's going to take some getting over.
I love you, M.

Last Wednesday

Last Wednesday we were in love.

Now we're just broken.

But I love you so much

My heart is full, my heart is empty

You leave me broken, you complete me

You raise me up, you bring me down

You say I threw you on the ground

But I love you so much

I love how you love me, I hate it

It's rainbows & butterflies, It's shit

I hate you now, but I love you still

I just want to kiss you, or kill

But I love you so much

What I would give to hear your voice again,

To be your lover, and your best friend

To have you now like I did before

But I don't want to talk anymore

I still love you so much

Kill me now, bring me to life

Here, take back your knife

I pulled it out of my back

Baby, just please come back

I love you so much

I want to see your name in my phone

I want you to leave me alone

Call me, I want to call you

I love your smile, I hate you

But I love you much

I know you love me, Yeah right

I want to hold you, I want to fight

I love you, I hate you

I want to fucking kill you

But I love you so much...

Yo!

Hey,

while you're here, don;t forget to check out my other blog :)

It's new :D

Click here ---------> http://stereotypicalshit.blogspot.com/

Untitled- The lost BFF

She's been my best friend for the past eight years. And today we're fighting.

This is the time I need her the most and she isn't here.

It's happened before.

Her not being there I mean.

Last year, we broke up. And didn't speak to each other for almost an entire year.

I don't wanna write about her.

I don't like being emotional about people. I'd rather not care.

'Course there's a cause that's lost before it begins.

I'm a hopeless emotional.

I always felt like my ability to love people was my strength. Now I'm forced to wonder- is it a weakness in disguise?

Take S Jo for instance. I'm emotional to the point of irritation about him. He has his flaws, and I choose to completely overlook them..

Its the same with MS. Despite everything she did to hurt me last year, I took her back, no questions asked.

And I love her, I do.

But I'm not the most emotionally-equipped person at showing how I feel. Putting it in one sentence.. If I'm nice to you, I probably don't even like you, and if I'm rude, I love you.

I have a sharp edge and a blunt tongue and a vicious brain, but underneath it I'm fiercely loyal.

I cannot go up to her and tell her I need her, but I can feel it all the same.

I can cry for her, and listen to songs about her, and even look at our pictures together, but it's hard for me to tell her how much she means to me.

My only hope is for her to know, deep in her heart that her best friend feels quite lonely without her, and that she needs to come back.

In the meantime, I can still stare at the phone that won't beep.

Bullshit.

Fuck it.
Whenever everything good begins to happen, shit comes in the way of things.
Why? Because apparently, it's the fricking law of nature. Or maybe, because God's a sadist.
Things were just beggining to settle down with S Jo. For a commitment-phobic, generally boy-hungry girl like me, it's a major achievement to be in a relationship, a steady one at that.
But apparently happy endings don't come to you that easily, served in a silver platter, garnished with joy & peace & contentment.
It's actually served on a weared-down, ugly metal plate, burned and black. Most importantly, its COLD.
Love is damn complicated as it is, and it absolutely sucks when others come along to make it worse.
I knew we'd face problems, with our relationship being 'condemned' or whatever.
But I didn't expect stuff to be as bad as this.

So here's another round of champagne, just to celebrate more bullshit.

Abyss

Slient, desolate streets
Miles to walk on, promoses to keep
Death & loss waiting by the door
Breathe, just move on.

Blank, empty spaces,
Shredded hearts, shadowed places,
Promises were meant to be broken
Breathe, just move on.

Long, empty hours
Wavering faith, pointless wars
Can't even remember your own name
Breathe, just move on

Mighty, lonely pride
Stand alone, alone you fight
Questioning your own choices
Breathe, just move on

Love, Sex, & Rock'n'Roll

Being a teenager is difficult. No, not because my hormones are taking over my body, or school is getting tougher or even that there are more responsibilities.
It's because I'm having to make choices.
Earlier, they were restricted to what toy I wanted to play with, what I wanted to eat, whether I wanted to play first, have my milk later or what I wanted to wear.
But now, life isn't so easy anymore.
Yes I know, I'm growing up. Everyone does. But the problem with today's world is that it isn't so easy anymore.

Today, I'm standing at crossroads. Crossroads of morality & immorality, correct choices & wrong decisions, society & self, conformity & individuality.
I live in a world where drugs are easily accessible, cigarettes and alcohol are sold at every street corner, sex is prevalent & friends are often foes.
I am bombarded with information. I ask questions, but no one answers them. I'm expected to have an opinion about everything. But I don't know who to believe.
I am lost in a maze of people. I am searching for myself in the mirror. I don't have an identity, or maybe I have too many of them.
I can't identify with the people I see on TV. I can't identify with the child I see on the road.
I dress a particular way. I act, think & speak like everyone else.
I don't know whether I should worry about the world, my family or myself.
I am expected to lead the world. But I can't even lead myself.
I am being shoved towards knowledge, but I am slouching towards wisdom.

Terrorism, honor killing, religion, success, greed , money, patriotism, honesty, love, murder, rape, humanity, diseases, death, society, fame, careers, parents, environment, global warming ...
My mind is a whirl of images. A cacophony of multiple soundtracks. Confusion has clouded my senses, and suddenly I can't think anymore.
Everyday, I'm making a choice. A choice about the kind of human being I want to be. Or maybe, that I want to remain a human being.
I don't know the difference anymore.
But at least I get the right to choose. And that brings a satisfaction of sorts.

I'm not going to merely survive in this world. My intention is to live life completely, fully and passionately.


I want to be able to judge human beings, to differentiate between the good and the bad and the wolves in men.
I want to change the world but I don't know how.
But for now, all I can do is peer through the chaos and haze & look for the silver lining.
That would be the salvation for me and my world.

Memories

What would life be without memories? They give depth to our existence. We learn from them, remember them, laugh with them, cry with them. They’re the substance of our mind.

Whenever I think about my childhood, a rush of images, sounds & smells fill my head.

There are a lot of firsts.

My first day in school. Smiling teachers, a lot of blue. I remember being a savvy, happy child, with answers to everything. I left a lasting impression.

My first friends. Laughter, birthday cakes and crayons. I remember tying shoelaces for everyone because I was the first one to learn how. I remember borrowing crayons and never returning them. Going to birthday parties just for the return gift. Wanting a GI Joe, because my brother had one. Watching my hair catch on fire on my birthday.

My first fight. Not understanding anything. Feeling hurt. Crying. Maybe punching someone- that memory is a little vague. Definitely pulling someone’s hair.

My first pet. A bird. A little blue budgie who would cock her head just so. Feroza, the obstinate little thing, who taught me so much about love. I remember walking in the park with her on my shoulder, biting my ear when I walked too fast. Snuggling into my sweater in the cold, & then feeling her climb up again. And when she died, hunted by a cat, I felt pain & loss, for the first time.

My first phone. Having no one to call because I was the only one with one. Showing off a little. And dropping it & losing it & breaking it.

A lot of other memories too.

Holidays. Beaches, water parks, temples, hotels, resorts, safaris, photographs, luggage, shopping & so much more.

Family. Fights. Domain issues with my brother. Shopping with my mother. My father dropping me to school. Watching my brother being lectured about his baggy pants, credit card bills & multiple girlfriends.

My grandmothers home In Agra. The domestic disputes. The aroma floating in from the kitchen- of dal & rice, the staple meal of the household since the 1800s.

The dogs howling at night and then being chased in the morning back into their dens. My grandma’s wry sense of humor. My grandfather, set in his ways, his clothes- a white kurta- laid out every morning. Being given Rs. 10 so I could buy chips from the shop across the street.

Hospitals, because all my relatives are medical professionals, I’ve seen my share of them.

Weddings. Loud, crowded, hot weddings. Dancing in the baraat. Dressing up in Indian attire, loaded with jewelry, feeling like a princess.

Looking back, I remember fondly all the moments gone by. Even now, when I stare at photographs of my past, I remember the laughter & the tears & the disappointments . And most of all, I remember what I am, & and how I became that way.

Autobiography

Writing about yourself is never easy. Opening a door & letting some one else privy to your secrets, your darkest desires, your hidden fears. Revealing your hidden face, letting a stranger peer through the outer façade you have built around yourself. Opening up.

Every other day a celebrity comes up with a memoir or an autobiography often with a boasting title that paints them as heroes & tragedy queens. Maybe such openness comes with being in the public eye so much. After being on public display for years, taking the final step to complete transparency is not so hard.

And how does one know what to write. What could be so interesting in my relatively “un-happening” life that another would be so interested to read about?

Ann perhaps the most philosophical reservation of all—do I know myself well enough to describe my inner world to another person, one who will perhaps judge me & form an opinion of my mistakes and my choices.

It’s not easy.

Telephone.

Waiting.

Staring at the damn telephone and waiting.

It won't ring. It never does.

Butterfly Fly Away

She stopped in the doorway, hesitating. She contemplated entering, her hand resting on the doorknob of the slightly-ajar door. Finally, taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and entered.

He stood in front of the fireplace, his back to her.

A flash of memory. He would always stand like that, gazing into the dancing flames, thinking seriously. She'd been watching him since she was a little girl. It was his favourite place.

A smile played on her lips as more memories filled her head.

Being thrown in the air and caught again. Being engulfed in the musky smell of hard work, the feel of rough cotton shirt. Feeling protected. Safe.

She smiled more widely now & walked towards him, no fear in her stride now.

This was the man she'd trusted with her every secret since she was 5 years old.

This was her father.

"Dad", she called tentatively. He turned and gazed at her.

"I--", she began.

"Shh..." He shushed her. "You don't need to say anything. You have made your decision. And that's that."

"But I..", she tried again.

"No. Don't try to apologize."

"If anyone should apologize, it's me. You look like you're scared silly, and it's probably because of me. Don't be scared child, you're not making a mistake", he said gently.

"You see, no father wants his little girl to grow up. We want her to be forever the little child in pigtails & ribbon in her hair, who would run up to me with her drawings. The little girl who would need protection from the smallest thunderstorm. The little girl whose world revolved around me."

"But it doesn't work that way. We all grow up someday. And you have. Actually, you've been that way for a while now. I just refused to see it", he said with a little laugh.

Then he sighed. "I guess it was me who hadn't grown up yet. But I need too. To grow up and be strong. Enough to let go."

"But, Dad.." she said.

"No", he interrupted her. "You listen to me now. I want you to go. Take the scholarship. Go. Live your life."

"Just promise me one thing. Don't forget your old man now, alright? Write to me. Call me everyday. I want to know everything. Every little thing."

"Dad", she protested.

"No, caterpillar. You need to do this. A little distance is good for both of us. Don't worry, child. I love you, and I will always love you. But we both have some growing up to do, me more than you. And we have do it ourselves. I can't help you, now."

He looked away, his eyes glistening.

She ran into his arms, feeling her own tears brim over and run down her face. She buried her face into the familiar scent & the familiar feel and she cried.

"Shhh...", he said, patting her head.

"My dear butterfly, fly way now. Spread your wings and fly."

The delete button

When I'm writing, I find my hand often poised over the delete button. I write, read it, re-read, delete it and then find myself at a loss of words.

Because, nothing I write is good enough. It can be better. I can do better.

And what annoys me the most? When I write the perfect line. It's beautiful, it's smart, it's witty, it's lyrical. It's freaking perfect. And I can't find either head or tail.

Because nothing is ever good enough to come before or after that line... this most exquisite line has to be erased and never be used.

All writers go through this misery. Perhaps because we set such high standards for ourselves that nothing can ever go through the regimented perfection that we desire from our work.

Everything is non-satisfactory. Nothing is ever good enough.

It's good, but not good enough.

It's good, but it could be fantastic, ravishing, wholesome, extravagant.

There's always room for improvement.

The delete button is the realisation of this insecurity. Because the moment it sets it, pressing the delete button becomes second nature.

Sometimes I imagine the delete button to be smirking, like the callous villian whose long, thin fingers call the hero to his doom.

I hate the delete button.

The Hunt

The beast, quiet as a mouse
Stalks the prey in the night.
When all is dark, he ventures out
To realise his karma.
The rhythm of his paws
Only to be imagined
As he pads through softly .
The moon peeps from behind the clouds
A glint of those razor sharp claws
All is over.
A spectrum of nature.
Till the roar announces his prize
And the night is still again.

Alive

It's like nothing she'd ever felt before. This strange, crazy feeling that brought tears to her eyes.
Because it made her weak, it made her vulnerable... It broke through the steel-hearted facade that she had made for herself, the cold, hard mask she had hid herself behind. It exposed her heart, her soul.. her self laid bare for everyone to see.
Because she needed him. Needed him like the very air she breathed. A need so powerful, it took her breathe away. A need so potent, it left a gaping hole in her chest. A need that had her clutching her heart at any kind of separation, however temporary.
A need that made it impossible for her to exist... without him.

No man had ever made her feel so insignificant, so small, so... incomplete.
Because that's exactly what he did. He left her riddled like Swiss cheese, and the only person who could fill the emptiness was him. She needed him to be whole again.
Need. Need, to the point of pain.
And yet.. all she felt was an unfamiliar sense of excitement. Exhilaration. Not the kind that came from jumping off buildings. She knew, she'd tried.
But the kind that pooled into her stomach and knotted her nerves. The kind that made her bite her lip and wring her hands. The kind that made her heart thud in her chest.
Anticipation? Passion? Love?
She did not even want to contemplate the term.
But one thing she could not deny....... She had never felt so alive.

Circus

Trapped by these empty walls,
Surrounded by my demons
They feed on me, you watch me die
Indifferent, looking away, as I lie
Arms outstretched, drenched in blood
Crying out for mercy,
My screams pervade the air
But you don't even care

Nothing left but a whisper
A ghost of a past that was
It mocks my so called life
Just a parody of lies
A circus of decay

The dead on the merry-go-round
Leering, smirking clowns
Acrobats swinging, Lions circling
Awaiting the crack of the whip.
And the ringmaster awakens
Contemplates his decision
His dark,brooding, staring eyes
Hiding acts of evil inside,
'Crack', And it's the end.
My fate is sealed.