At 23.

There's a war in my head. And I'm not winning.

23? Passion. Aggression. A peace like never before. Far too much love, too much hatred. Wanting to carve a name, etch it on this earth forever. Needing to retreat into my shell.  An incomprehensible love for art. An urge for creation. Inability to focus. 

There's a war in my head. And I'm not winning. 

Of guilt trips and inadequacies.

M,

You are stronger than I will ever be, and lest my tears cause any self doubt in your mind, my existence would be annihilated in spirit.

I cannot fathom the pain you are going through and there are raging wars of guilt and inadequacies in my head. Could I have been there for you longer?  Could I have retarded the pace of the monsters that are you eating you up, little by little? Could I have loved you more? Could I have expressed more?

Time has passed too quick since we last met. But it feels like yesterday, you screaming at me for hiding out at the river banks, lest you lose me for good. What do I scream at for taking you away from me? Forever.

Two months have passed by, and I still die a little inside each day blaming myself for all the things I failed to do. This is not empathy. You don't need my empathy. You have been far too strong to have ever needed anything in life, more so from me, who didn't care enough to be a profound presence!  You bore in silence for far too long, hiding your consuming pain under the mask of a cheerful face, and I failed to see that you were suffering. 

 How did I not see it? Is pain that easy to hide? How did I not know?  How consumed was I in my own world full of materialism chasing things that I will have to leave behind in this world anyway?

Would you forgive me for not seeing through your smile? Should I ever forgive myself?

Is this how life works? That people suffer incessantly, in secret, day after day while others fail to comprehend the extent of their pain and hardships? Does one have to cry out loud about their misfortunes for others to see it? Are we now incapable of reading silence?

I will never have answers to most of this, but when we do meet one day, at a river bank, and when you run to me reprimanding me for being there, my heart will smile knowing your love is far stronger than my failures and inadequacies. 

The one that matters.

I'm far far away in a distant land, and I don't see you anymore.  Not as much I would have desired to.  Not in all your colours and their shades,  not in your details.  But you're with me on my mind,  as you always will be.  A part of you will always live in me, like it does,  reminding me so constantly of our time together.

Tonight feels like one of those nights where I'd ask you to continue speaking, even when you had nothing to say,  only to listen to the vast dimensions of your thoughts.  One of those nights that I would choose to sing for you; you'd join in and I would reprimand you for the incorrectness of the lyrics. Or the night that we strolled along the moonlit shores listening to lethargic waves, letting them whisper their stories as we whispered ours. The night of endless adventures. The night that felt shorter than the conversations we wanted to share.

Tonight there's only gratitude. For being my shore that I lashed my troubled waters at,  the one where we built our castle of memories when nothing else seemed to remain. 

For choosing to walk into my life and being the closest definition of "altruistic love" that I will ever know. For doing everything within your reach,  and beyond to make me happy.

For calling me "sunshine",  even when I brought in more darkness than I should have.

For loving me even in my broken fractions and parts,  when I couldn't find the whole of me. For helping me find myself back,  not closing your doors on me everytime I walked away, for the kindness. 

For allowing me to love you.  For letting me know just how much I could.  For setting the standards high for any other person that will ever enter my life.

I cannot tell you how grateful I am for you.  And how apologetic I am to have caused the pain and the tears- something I can never forgive myself for.

Today is your day,  and if there's anything I want you to know it is that

I love you.

In all your colors and shades. In your most intricate details.  In the purest form of love I have ever felt.

Nights and Stories.

2AMs, the sound of the ticking clock, heavier breaths, and cold breeze forcing its way in through the crevices in the glass- they all have their own story to tell.  The nights hold an unworldly charm for those who can see through the dark. 

As it caresses in its bosom the noisy crowds, the poets, artists,  writers and thinkers awaken. How in love am I with these hours that belong solely to them!

Up high in the sky,  the moon shines bright and on it are silhouettes of children dancing in a winter light to faintly lullabies. They disappear to the morning sun. Are the craters the indentations of their tiny feet as they hurried back home?

On some starless nights,  the lone star appears meekly and carefully, like a little brat giving away the playful  crimes of its comrades when they're away. Little does it know, the  the fallen stardust on night sky carpets at 2 AMs are my playful crimes. 

On a distant land, I hear the warring waters.  The ebb and flow of the tides.  Their fickle mindedness.  Ebb or flow?  Why this war with a welcoming shore, I think.  Ebb, then flow. 

Where I am, the nights birth a new story with every deceptive wink of my eye.  There's another world in these nights.  A hundred new worlds in some.  How in love I am with these nights and their stories!

It was either brimming joy
Or hidden pain
And at times,  both
They were always glistening- her eyes
And how he spent nights trying to decipher
The secret worlds that dwelled in them
Worlds her words didn't vindicate enough! 

In an incomprehensible darkness

The clouds ignited, burst open

The pain wouldn't hold anymore.
Peircing. Fighting. Hastening.
Inflicting more than it freed.
Yet, void of remorse, the freedom exultant.
Still, a ray shined through.
Amidst all odds.
Peircing. Fighting. Hastening.
Only, harder.
And just as she lit the darkest corridors 

Of his dismal, brittle heart
It shone with a light brighter than the sun.

A Thing Called Love.

Let me paint you a picture.

One that transcends all known divides. 

One that speaks of love, of all things beautiful.

I'd paint you the picture. I promise you. But love needs colors, rainbows, and far too many auroras of congruous harmony for me to do it any justice. 

I have drained all of mine in rendering the grey sky with my hues. 

And if I did, there'd be too many colors contrasting the darkness she left behind in your soul. 

Just too much light to blind your already flickering eyelids. But I promised you, to hold your heart dear.

I could say it again, and  a hundred times over. 

And a few times more- that you will be alright. 

And silently hope for myself, just as I do for you, that so will I.

But we both know. 

That when they leave, they take along with them a part of our worlds, that we little knew existed.

And we spend the rest of our days, unforgiving, recreating the lost worlds in others, with others.

Always, in vain.

I would tell you, the universe brims with enough goodness to set you free.  To set us free.

That it conspires to save the good people, our hurting souls. 

But love defies all logic, all science, philosophy. Everything that we know to be true.

You have seen more universes than the rest of the world have ever known to exist, in the subtle nuances of her very being.

Found too many worlds in the single person that meant the world to you.

The goodness of a million others shone bright in your one-in-a-million.

And blinded you to the rest of the world.

What science or logic could explain this love? One so profuse, so consuming. 

This is why my words are meek. 

Too fragile to hold on their own.

Why I fumble when I tell you you're going to be alright. 

Why when you fell back to the raw earth from your heavens,  you fell deeper than you imagined. 

Why at times, you were too numb to feel. 

Or comprehend the hoard of new feelings that now blanket you.

 Everyday. Every single night.

Why there isn't enough light in the world anymore.

You loved with a love you didn't know you were capable of.

You loved enough for the both you.

And when she left.. 

Well, when they leave.

We have enough left in us to indulge in darker sides of the night.

Enough for it all: 

Falling more in love with the ideas of our carved worlds. 

Ideas. More ideas.

Concepts. Scripting concepts of a redefined love. Scripting fantasies never to be true.

Growing too fond of the new found escape- solace- solitude

Of the dark firmaments, the studded stars velveting them. 

Of all things you have grown fond of as you drank away the hurtful nights.

Of vanishing silhouettes, piercing suns and fading sunsets.

Of all things that crashed your empire in the wake of the day. 

Of lost battles. Losing wars.

Lost causes. 

Once in a while, and to an unlucky few, very few times in a while a thing called love happens. 

The darkness of the earth consumes itself to light up enough new worlds in our souls. 

Love happens. 

And then, it is lost. 

Worlds are lost. 

And you have been blinded again.

A few more battles lost. The war too lost..

Lost ideas, concepts. 

Listen close, the universe still conspires.

Relentlessly.

You will hurt.  It will hurt. 

But in the bitterness, love happens. 

Again.