do you?

Now that it has been so long, I still wonder what it feels like to be in love.

Does it feel like I’ve butterflies in my stomach?

Does it feel like my chest is going to burst?

Or do I feel the blood gushing through my veins?

So, what doe it feel like to be in love?

You see, it is the feeling that matters.

December 15, 2018 :

We had a conversation for the last time. It was wrecking to hear his voice shatter into pieces as I spoke the following words “I don’t."

I felt nothing that day, yes I cried but I felt nothing that day. I was not sad, I was not angry, I was not happy either.

Today I realise what I was that day. If you have guessed it, well and good but I’ll break it to you,

I was numb.

Ever wondered what it feels like to be numb?

Its devastating , not that it will help you understand how it feels like, just an adjective I had to use .

March 8, 2019 :

I saw him standing, I did get a  déjà  vu earlier that day of the chances of meting him. I did not look at him. My heart was bursting out of my chest. I could feel the blood gushing through my veins. I was anxious.

Today I wonder what made me so vulnerable that day and probably it was something I still do not know.

Vulnerable, what has made you feel so?

 October 11, 2019 :

I broke through something I’ve long been trying to understand.

It is reality.

It is but a leap, so, take it, face the truth. Might not be good all the time but it’s fine.

It’ll pass just know one thing .

Whatever happens in life, happens for a reason. It’s not remotely important for the reason to be good, you don’t want your life to be too good. Or do you?

Have you ever seen the sky clear after a storm ? 

Have you seen the girl in the random book store peeping intensely to her favourite genre?

Have you seen people passing by not even knowing you exist ?

They say live life. They say be who you are .

But , do we really know who we are? Or getting to know who we are is living life ?

It really fucks my mind seeing how premiscuois I can be. 

Watching mossess grow in my balcony , watching the jade plant turning side to the way there is more sun. Watching a seed grow into a plant. 

Our lives are like a gliding window. Sometimes we shut it . Sometimes we open it wide. 

It's really amazing that the world is so quite. The sounds of nature is so soothing. 

It's funny how unimportant your presence is , it hurts really but it's the truth. It's funny how less number of people remember you after you are gone. 

But you don't want everyone to remember you , do you?

A psychologist can't tell you your traits no one can ,except you. 

That's what life is , finding who you are . 

//Out of context

I'll meet you

I’ll meet you again,

Next summer solstice,

when you heart will be numb

face will be pale , your vigour will be lost,

I’ll meet you again my love,

when the cigarettes I smoked will not be on your desk,

I’ll meet to you again and it’ll be perfect,

There won’t be frozen promises,

There will be liquor and delicacies,

Ill meet to again and taste the same tea you liked.

Ill meet you again and it will be raining.

Ill will be drenched and so will you be,

Ill know it was us and you will know it was never meant to be.

Ill meet you//akansha

maybe.

There are so many things in the world that are just, inevitable .

So many dreams we want to follow .

So many questions of accusation .

So many guilt running through the body .

To be true ,

How often do you realize that all the things you say are gonna come back at you out of the blue ?

How often do you feel like surrendering ?

You know truth is like an oblivion ,once it has happened , it cannot be undone .

It’s a Sunday morning , warm breeze of summer , cloudy day not that much of heat , maybe just because it is 7:04  a.m.

She’s awake , she makes herself some coffee sits down on the bean bag she bought the day ago with him . She’s pale , her lips parted, long fingers short nails , painted with transparent enamel , she’s holding a medium sized mug , white with peach embellishment designs . She’s wearing this pure cotton camisole with casual pants . She has a habit if ticking the mug with her finger like trying to reminisce . Maybe she is, maybe she is reminiscing about him about the fight they had the day before in the mall , maybe she is sad because she turned the vibrant mood to a grey pain . Maybe , maybe not .

She puts the mug on the table picks up the phone that was charging .

“100%” it shows . She unlocks the phone with her fingerprint goes to the application “WhatsApp”, opens the chat with contact named “Jake” , checks his last seen .

“last seen today at 1:54.”

Puts the phone down .

She didn’t check the phone for another  2 hours , then a message pings up .

“ Maybe it had been better if we did not meet Susan. I’m leaving for LA. Bye .”

She checks puts it back . Shuts it down and cries .

A year later again I see her , ticking the mug sitting on the bean bag .

Paris - chapter 1

I was standing on pont des arts. 
Admiring the locks and thinking , I can't put mine on it.
No one can anymore.

Drowning in my thought, I saw you,
You, you were wearing an old ripped denim with a t-shirt from Tommy Hilfiger. Oh, those red and blue stripes.
You were smoking a cigarette on a fall evening,
You, were anything but what I wanted you to be,
You were wretched, you were open minded but close hearted.
You walked up to me as I stared, stood beside me, looking at the same lilac sky . 

"Isn't it beautiful?",  you said stamping the cigarette.
"What is?", I asked tucking my coat close to me, it was cold.
"The weather, inside of you." , he said .

I had nothing to say, I was so drawn to you, still not knowing why we did whatever we did.

Maybe we were in love.

twining in you

Same old wretched love,

Crushing of souls, rushing of blood.

Standing under that blue blossom,

Nourishing my heart, drenching in dopamine.

You pulled me close holding my waist,

Exposing your tattoo, unicorn.

You touched my cheeks with your long fingers,

Put behind my hair.

You touched my parched lips,

Rendering me naked.

We kissed long,

Got inside our bedroom.

We got naked,

Her tongue traced my body to places I’ve never been.

I felt so passionate, so young, so new,

The glasses of wine fell on the ground.

The mattress was wet and so was I,

She poured the wine in my mouth, from hers.

She pulled my hair in her hand,

Kissed my neck.

I still feel the warmth of her breath on my neck,

Still feel the same thirst.

For some good old cherry wine.

//twining in you//

The first spring rain

What do you do when you’re alone?

Do some errands around the house?

Do some digging on the garden that you want to build since, forever.

Do swipe through tinder?

Check who last visited you’re instagram?

Or do you just sit there on your couch, grey, textured, idly. Watching outside the window with a cup of black coffee in your hand at the audacity of the nature to rain just at the wrong moment.

Listening to some jazz music, do you feel like dancing with a glass of old cherry wine in your hand?

But realising you cant do it, because you’re alone. There is no one in your house, no one beside you, no glass of wine but a messy bedside table with hairbrush, three last books you read shovelled and the cups of coffee you had since morning, on it. There you are. Alone or should I say, lonely .

A message ping up on your apple xs,

 “John Matthew, Ankan Chowdhury and 188 other people reacted to your photo.”

You sighed, took long breath kept the phone on the table upside down, you did notice the battery charge left it signaled “42%”.

Now, you’re listening to the rain drops on the balcony how chivalrous it can be,  there’s silence and you think its healing but,

is it ?

You closed your eyed held the mug tightly, pretending to remember something but there is nothing to remember, except the last pay check you got, of the last person you met at Applebees who was looking at your cleavage instead of your eyes, of the last picture you clicked with you’re friends, all smiling and happy. But are you ?

You were thinking about the book store you went to on 22^nd February and was wearing a chiffon shirt and trousers, two rings on your finger, one is emerald other is gold with a simple cut out, you were wearing that bracelet your mother sent you, button earrings usual one’s and the gold necklace, hairs messy tied up into a bun , you were not wearing bra and had the auve leather handbag you bought from zara, it was long came up to you waist and for shoes the flats from MANGO. You did not had any make up on, the freckles were visible with the natural tinge of peach on the apples of your cheek, you had light dark circles maybe anxiety .

In that book store you went across this guy, who did not look at your cleavage but your eyes and helped with the book that you could not reach to, he looked like a dreamer though . lost, hurt, broken, you wanted to talk to him meet him on a coffee date, but you did not say anything except a “thank you “, subtly.

You are regretting, regretting not talking to him, regretting sitting there on the couch and not going to the balcony and getting drenched on the first spring rain, regretting to pretend happy when there is a chaos inside, regretting not telling someone what you felt when you were drowning in your emotions and just telling,

“ I’m fine.”

You kept the cup on the table open the balcony door, went outside to get wet, to cry,  you’re wearing a chiffon top, a mixture of pink and peach, a criss-crossed boxer . You’re drenching now, your nipples are erect and visible, you stood there for a while put your wet hairs behind, every inch of your body soaking in water you decide not regret, you decide to tell the truth and accept it.

Only for that day as we all do.