At the bar, one night

Hers

She smoothens her dress as she perches herself atop the barstool. She lets all the disturbing thoughts from her muddled up head, out through a dramatic exhale of breath and she soaks up the carefreeness and contentment from the air. She politely asks the bartender to fetch her a screwdriver. She toys with the bracelet that hangs loosely around her wrist, as she waits for her drink. She thinks to herself, "I can do this. I can be at a bar alone. I'm wearing this amazing dress. Even if it cost me half my paycheck. And these deeply fabulous shoes. Even though they're killing me. So what? No pain no gain. I've still got my game. I can be single again. I don't need a man on my arm to have a good time." She sighs miserably in self-pity, unsure of her own convictions, as she sips her drink that arrived moments ago. Her fingers drum against the bar absentmindedly. She fidgets with the tan line on the fourth finger of her left hand where once sat a ring. She looks around her, taking in the assortment of people that surrounded her. She scrutnizes each one carefully and starts to make up stories about them, a game she played when she felt alone in crowds, ever since she was a little girl. And then she catches sight of a young man and a girl, huddled in a corner, looking at each other dotingly, their love pouring out of every little gesture, every little movement. "Ah! To be young and in love." she thinks to herself, "Guess its much harder being single than I thought it would be. 8 years of marriage would do that to you. Let me give this a shot another day." She gulped what remained of her drink, paid and left. 

His 

He watched as she sweeped in and sat down in one exquisite movement. She was an unconventional beauty. She did not dazzle you, she intrigued you. He was fascinated by her instantly. He could sense her awkwardness inspite of her perfect mannerisms. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He carefully watched her lips move as she spoke to the bartender. He observed how her face was vulnerable yet hostile, all at once. He wanted to talk to her, to touch her but for once the smooth player in him hesitated. And it beat him, why. For a moment he thought he'd caught her eye. He froze with nerve and excitement, until he realized she was only gazing into nothingness. All these feelings, they seemed so alien to him. He was undeniably smitten. He watched her every move as he tried to work up the courage to talk to her. He downed his drink, and just as he got on his feet, he saw her leave, out the door. He wondered if he should follow her. He rushed outside in the direction she went in. It was a moment's hesitation too long. He stepped out and he'd lost her amongst the swarming crowd. He retreated inside, took his freshly refilled glass and sat back on his chair, disoriented, for a very long time. 

When you fall in love with a writer...

I haven't posted in quite a few months, owing to the major bout of writer's block that I am suffering at the hands of. This post is not my original creation but something very beautiful that I read on tumbler and was compelled to share.

What happens if you fall in love with a writer?

Lots of things might happen. That’s the thing about writers. They’re unpredictable. They might bring you eggs in bed for breakfast, or they might all but ignore you for days. They might bring you eggs in bed at three in the morning. Or they might wake you up for sex at three in the morning. Or make love at four in the afternoon. They might not sleep at all. Or they might sleep right through the alarm and forget to get you up for work. Or call you home from work to kill a spider. Or refuse to speak to you after finding out you’ve never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. Or spend the last of the rent money on five kinds of soap. Or sell your textbooks for cash halfway through the semester. Or leave you love notes in your pockets. Or wash you pants with Post-It notes in the pockets so your laundry comes out covered in bits of wet paper. They might cry if the Post-It notes are unread all over your pants. It’s an unpredictable life.

But what happens if a writer falls in love with you?

This is a little more predictable. You will find your hemp necklace with the glass mushroom pendant around the neck of someone at a bus stop in a short story. Your favorite shoes will mysteriously disappear, and show up in a poem. The watch you always wear, the watch you own but never wear, the fact that you’ve never worn a watch: they suddenly belong to characters you’ve never known. And yet they’re you. They’re not you; they’re someone else entirely, but they toss their hair like you. They use the same colloquialisms as you. They scratch their nose when they lie like you. Sometimes they will be narrators; sometimes protagonists, sometimes villains. Sometimes they will be nobodies, an unimportant, static prop. This might amuse you at first. Or confuse you. You might be bewildered when books turn into mirrors. You might try to see yourself how your beloved writer sees you when you read a poem about someone who has your middle name or prose about someone who has never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. These poems and novels and short stories, they will scatter into the wind. You will wonder if you’re wandering through the pages of some story you’ve never even read. There’s no way to know. And no way to erase it. Even if you leave, a part of you will always be left behind. 

If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die. 

All That Matters

Make someone laugh

Dare to dream your dream

Let yourself be heard

Trust yourself more than anybody else

Have the heart to forgive

Shed a few tears

Keep your head on your shoulders

Tell someone ‘I love you’ and mean it

Make a few mistakes

Have your heart broken

Send a prayer to heaven every now and then

Have the strength to face failure

Never give up, no

Give it all you got

Make it count

And that will be all that matters

This post is written as a part of ‘All that Matters‘ contest at BlogAdda.com in association with INK Live 2013.

Complimental

Although this has been said over and over again, I say it yet again to lay emphasis on its simple truthfulness- “Complimenting is a subtle art.” To add to it, I’d say that like every other art, complimenting has its masters, novices and those who absolutely suck at it. Believe it or not, a badly paid compliment can easily be taken offence at. A compliment needs to be subtle yet not so underhanded that the receiving party doesn’t even realize it.

Only the other day, I ran into an old acquaintance from school. After the basic niceties, in a shocked tone, pausing after every word, she said, “Why do you look so *longest pause* weak?!” Me being the snide bitch I am, I said “Why don’t you just pay me a compliment and tell me I’ve lost weight.” She just grinned at me. She went on to tell me how my skin had cleared up in a matter-of-fact way as if to remind of those days in school when acne terrorized me. I smiled politely and got on with doing whatever it was that I was doing.

What I was trying to bring to light by mentioning this incident was how there really is such a thing as a badly paid compliment. Even though it’s unlikely, but maybe, just maybe, that acquaintance was really sincere at heart and meant to pay a genuine compliment but the way it came across as, it seemed like a snide poke at my earlier fatso, acne-faced self.

Many a times, people don’t pay compliments at all which is such a major bummer. If I make the effort and look good, tell me. When I cook something and it tastes delicious, I need to be told so. I have never understood why people refrain from complimenting. Maybe it doesn’t come to them like an instinct like it does to so many of us. Managers in corporate companies use complimenting as a device of sorts, for positive motivation of their employees and it’s been known to work more effectively than monetary incentives in a majority of the cases.

Many a times, a lot of us pay the wrong compliments. Is there such a thing as a wrong compliment, you wonder? Yes, there is. What’s worse than paying no compliment is paying a bad or wrong compliment. For instance, I don’t believe that, “That dress is gorgeous!” is a compliment. I’d rather be told that I look good in that dress. If I don’t, don’t mention it all! To make it clearer, you don’t say, “That was some brilliant choreography” to someone you just saw perform, no. You tell them, “You danced wonderfully” instead. It is very important to choose what to compliment. There are no hard and fast rules to it but it is something you just acquire, over time.

Now go around, drop random compliments like birds drop poop, for they don’t cost no thing, nananana.

Signing out x

Love- its glories and subtleties

I was watching ‘Pearl Harbour’ on TV (for the nth time of course) and I made note of the three most romantic lines I have ever heard-

“Your love kept me alive!” –Rafe to Evelyn

“I will give Danny my whole heart but I’ll never look at another sunset without thinking of you.” –Evelyn to Rafe

“The only thing that scares me is that might you love him more than you love me.” –Danny to Evelyn

Anyone who has ever watched Pearl Harbour knows that it is an elaborate, entangled love story, packed with overwhelming emotions. It is true that it has been subjected to a LOT of disapproval with the critics and the heartless but let’s face it, it’s hard to switch channels if it’s showing on TV.

Getting to the point, (no, it’s not a post in praise of Pearl Harbour though I am of the opinion that it is a brilliant movie) the movie got me wondering if romantic tragedies, romantic comedies, basically romantic movies of any sort glorify love and heartache.

Is it possible to love so deeply? To make such intense declarations of love, that leave the whole world in tears? Is it really possible to be so selfless when you’re in love? Is it possible to be so ‘great’?

Till about a few years ago, I believed in the Hollywood/ Bollywood kind of love. The kind that makes us go ‘awww’ unfailingly, whenever we witness it. The kind that builds up expectations and weaves such fantasies in our heads that reality just isn’t good enough.

Now, I believe I have the better sense to know that love doesn’t consist in grand gestures or sweeping off feet and knights and white horses. Love is a lot more subtle, it’s much deeper than that. It’s about those hushed ‘I love you’s in crowded places; it’s in that morning cuppa in bed, made to your exact liking. It’s about fighting but not being too worried because you know you’ll make up. There’s love in those stolen glances across halls and there’s also love in those highly gross fart matches.

Love is anything that comes to you with the greatest of ease. It’s effortless. I confess, there’s still a small corner in my heart that yearns for a fairytale, but I’ll more than just settle for the subtle. 

Of Fairytales And More

Growing up, I have been an avid reader. Call it a merit or vice but I always get very involved in whatever I read. I dissect and analyse the characters and story so minutely and so quickly, that I don’t even realize it has happened.

I was often accused of ‘wasting my time’ reading ‘mindless fiction’. I usually never argued because I knew, non-readers could never understand. They could never understand how it is a boon. My reading habit has affected and moulded the person I am today. It has helped me evolve into a more mature person (if I may say so), a better thinker.

Every now and then, I pick up my childhood fairytale books and they restore my faith in goodness. They make me believe in Princes Almost-Charming (nobody’s perfect, right?) and in true love. In today’s life, that is a whirlwind, fairytales ground me and remind me of the existence of innocence.

I have probably learnt the most from my favourite franchise- Harry Potter. This series taught me the importance of bravery to face fears, loyalty and friendship. It taught me that it’s okay to dream because it’s only in our dreams that we enter a world that is completely our own. It taught me the lesson of self-acceptance. And most importantly, that we may be victors in the battles of our lives but we really never win unless we are willing to sacrifice what we hold dear.

There are some stories that inspire us, others that guide us. Some teach us to pick ourselves up after we fall, others broaden our horizons. They teach us patience, they teach us kindness. Others teach us the importance of cleverness for survival. Each story has something to tell, it’s about what we really understand of it, that makes all the difference.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

For this and that

I am writing a Tribute to Mom in association with Parentous.com

For all the pain I gave you, struggling my way into this world

For all those dirty nappies and sleepless nights

For all those times you kissed my wounds better

For all those good night kisses

For all those times you filled this grumbling tummy

For all those times you let me experiment with your make-up

For all those special Mommy-Daughter days-out

For the wonderful reading habit you gave me

For the times you trusted me

And for the times you forgave me when I broke it

For all those times you wiped my tears

And restored my faith in brighter tomorrows

For teaching me the importance of love and compassion

Of tolerance and forgiveness

For helping me pick the right from wrong

For always wishing the best for me

And for the blanket of your love that kept me warm

I am eternally grateful

And even though I’m in no capacity to ever repay you

This is a little something for you to know you’re special

And how much I love you

My Mommy, my world

Back to Back

You know that feeling sometimes when your feet start tingling or go numb? It's not very pleasant, is it? Imagine if you had to live with it 24/7. Add to it unbearable pain and discomfort. The very thought makes you flinch. 

It was about two years ago when my back first started aching. My doctor, a general physician (who happens to be a close friend of my father's) waived it off as a symptom of UTI (Urinary Tract Infection) prescribed some medication and I was okay. 

A couple of months later, my lower back started hurting again and we saw an orthopaedic this time, who also happens to be my father's friend. He didn't think it was much to worry about and gave me some painkillers and tadah, I was okay again. We assumed I had a tendency to twist my back again and again. I was only 17, who would want to think of the worst?

After that, I frequently experienced backaches but I ignored them. Since I strongly criticize abuse of painkillers, I would just wait till the pain would subside. It could take a day, or a few more or even a week at times. I also refused to see another doctor because there's something about doctors and hospitals that unnerve me. From past experiences in my family, I knew that doctors almost always bring bad news. 

So I stayed stubborn for a whole year. Until one day, when I walked a lot and my lower back started aching. That was normal, so I didn't pay much heed. And then slowly, the pain radiated and I felt my left leg going numb. Now that was new. And scary. Once I found a place to sit and eventually lie down, I felt fine. This happened a couple of times in the same month. Now I was a little worried.

I only agreed to see another doctor when my leg started hurting so much that it was impossible for me to walk at all.

This new doctor was also a friend of the family (Damn, does my father know too many doctors, or what?) but a thorough professional. He made me take a MRI scan. That experience in itself was scary, but more on that later. My reports were terrible. Three of the lower discs in my back are dehydrated and displaced. Infact, it was so bad that the technician who did the scan called my doctor to confirm if I was only 19.

Apparently, the only reason I am mobile right now is because I am so young and if I don’t do something about it, I might need surgery or worse, get bedridden. This was too much to grasp for me. It felt like my whole world was literally collapsing. Of all the things in the world, what was my first concern? “What if I can’t have babies?!” I stayed depressed for a whole week until I saw it was affecting all the people around me who care so much. Now I brood and cry only in the privacy of my bedroom.

Life post diagnosis isn’t easy. There are days when I am in pain even if I'm walking or sitting or lying down, whatever and it just won't go. My mother doesn’t let me do chores that I would previously try to weasel out of. I am not allowed to carry grocery bags or anything that weighs practically anything. I am not supposed to bend to pick up things. I have to give up on the two loves of my life- high heels and dancing in the front of that mirror. Yes, I am a bathroom dancer. We’re just like bathroom singers except we dance instead of singing. The point being, it is not easy at all especially when I have most of my life left to live.
There's so much left to do. I want to dance and take crazy rides in amusement parks and travel around the world and wear high heels and have babies. Right now, I'm not sure I can do any of these. Everything seems so dark but I'm sure there will be light. I bet everything gets better. Unless I'm destined for tragedy, ofcourse.

Sometimes I wonder what if I hadn’t taken it so casually for a whole year. What if I had seen a better doctor sooner? Maybe my back wouldn’t have deteriorated so much. Maybe I would be in a better state right now. Maybe, just maybe… Knowing we have a family history of slip-discs, it was foolish to ignore my health. I have learnt my lesson and well. Ignoring warning signs about bad health? Worst decision EVER!

Here's a link to My Healthy Speak Blog

Much mess

There are two ways in which people deal with their problems. One, they face their problems and do something about them; two, they whine about them. I happen to belong to the cadre of people that believes in the latter ideology. I derive unexplainable pleasure from complaining, protesting and moaning about…Let’s say just about everything.

 And for good reason. For starters, I feel like an old woman owing to the premature whitening of my hair when I’m only 18. And they’re so noticeable because they’re so prominently placed, right over my forehead. I’m all for ageing gracefully and all but hello, too soon!

Now, I know that teenage comes with lots of its problems, even when it’s about to end, the most gruesome being- pimples. Every girl’s nightmare. Imagine this- you wake up one morning, and as you brush your teeth, something in the mirror catches your eye. A big fat pimple that sits so comfortably right on your…lip. That’s right. Who in the world gets a pimple on their freaking lip? Let me tell you who- I do. What’s worse than a pimple on the lip? The distorted, badly applied appearance of the lipstick I might use, thanks to the pimple. I was huffing and puffing around like an angry dragon until it finally went away.

I have major self-esteem issues. And they’re the weird kind. The kind where I like myself but I assume others don’t and they have no reason to think otherwise. And what do I do to improve them? Nothing, nada. Instead, I tell everyone I have them and enjoy being the object of all their fussing and adoration. I kind of like that. The world revolving around me, I mean. But let’s face it, what woman doesn’t?

This hasn’t been clinically detected or anything but I think I may have ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder) and OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). With respect to the ADHD, I can get my best friends to give testimonies about how I would be talking about their broken hearts one moment and wondering why cows don’t fly, the other. Or atleast something on those lines. As far as the OCD goes, ever since I was a little girl, like really little, I would count my steps. And count the number of stairs I climb. I would also ALWAYS begin walking with my left foot and would want to end it on my right. Now I count in 4’s. Because I like 4. It’s a brilliant, perfect squared number. I also like 8 and 16, but mostly 4. Somehow, these things make me believe that there’s peace in the world. That if I don’t start walking with my left and end with my right and if I don’t count everything in 4’s, there wouldn’t be stability and symmetry. Like everything would become meaningless and futile. Don’t even get me started on floors with checked tiles; it’s my symmetry OCD ailed brain’s worst nightmare.

What was the point of this entire post, you say? Nothing, I just enjoy whining like I mentioned previously.

Traalalala, that’s all for today.

Signing out x

Mischief managed

Last Thursday was a very significant day in my life and millions others, all over the world. It day marked the 15th anniversary of the infamous battle of Hogwarts that led to the defeat of... Lord Voldemort. There, I said it!
Some of you might smile to yourselves smugly, in mockery of how much emphasis I lay on an event of fictional history. To you, I would shrug with indifference because I'm not dysfunctional, it's your deprivation and naivety to blame why you don't understand.
To those who are clueless as to what I'm referring to, it's Harry Potter. I won't call it a saga or a series of books/ movies because it's more, much more. It's an inspiration. It's sacred. It's life altering. It's the silver lining to so many dark clouds. Dramatic as it sounds, every bit of it is true and I can summon a LOT of people to testify to that.
May the second, of every year is celebrated as International Harry Potter Day. It's a day as huge as any holiday and day sadder than any funeral. Earlier in the morning, I logged into my facebook account when on my newsfeed, a post from a HP Fanpage appeared that commemorated all the martyrs of the greatest wizarding wars of all times. No sooner than I had read it, I shed a few tears in memory of all those characters that played a role in shaping the person I am today. And I know that so many Potterheads (Yes, that's what we call ourselves.) joined me in my mourning. It might sound senile but it's beyond any muggle's comprehension. On this occasion, I knew I had to create a post as a tribute to this fandom that accepted me into it without any prejudice or bias. I owe it to J.K. Rowling for the way she has touched my life.
J.K. Rowling, who's brainchild Harry Potter is, has created the world's shortest lovestory in the word 'always'. She taught her readers how it's okay to be unique. She sowed the seeds for rebellion against injustice. She personified the words, 'till the very end.' She narrated an enthralling tale of bravery, ambition, wisdom and loyalty with all its essence intact. She restored our faith into the power of love. She created a world of fantasy so real that it is real now, to so many of us. She recreated the magic that seemed to be missing from all of our lives.

P.S. Nothing is funnier than nose related humour. ;)

Tough love

Sometimes I go back in time and wonder why. I just want to grab him by the collar and have him answer all these questions that I have. Especially why he ever told me he loved me. Because I did something very stupid when he did. I believed him. And that foolishness has led to all this pain I feel. All these months, I complained about how it was hard to let go because I didn't have anything to blame him for. How I didn't have a reason to resent him. But I do. I can blame him for ever happening to me and I can hate him for making me fall in love with him. I can. But I won't. Because it was good while we had it. Its worth all the pain and all those tears. Its even worth all those crazy moments when I hallucinate him in front of me or make up conversations with him in my head. It's hard right now. Harder than what I could ever imagine it to be but the fact remains that he found her. He found the one who makes him go weak in his knees, the one face he wants to see every morning for the rest of his life. It is tough to come to terms with it, but that won't change a thing. All I can do  is to hope that this agony is a phase and believe that we really weren't meant to be and someone else will come along who'll settle for this face of mine to see everyday. I'll make him go jelly, alright.

Hate that I love that I hate

I am a massive romantic. I love relationships; being in one and seeing others happy in one, alike. Probably being in one, more. What draws me towards relationships so much is that they aren’t dictated by any norms, they aren’t bound by any rules. You don't HAVE to be doing something specific to be in a relationship. There is no rulebook, no guidelines, no definitions. You make your own; learn from your own mistakes. It's a wonderful path of learning and discovering each other and yourself. Now, having made that point, there are a lot of things about relationships that...let's just say aren't very pleasant, in my books. Things that people do, a manner they typically behave in, when they're in relationships, to be specific. Here's a list of top 7 things about relationships that I love to hate-

#7 I hate it when in a couple, the girl is taller than the guy. It just seems wrong on so many levels.( Pun intended.) It seems as if the universe's symmetry has been distorted. I know that this is a very shallow perspective but I can't help but feel the way I do about this issue of critical symmetrical importance. Maybe it’s an OCD.
Imagine a guy tip-toeing to kiss a girl. Very. Disturbing. Thought.

#6 I absolutely detest it when couples intertwine pinkies and walk. Holding hands is completely fine, but pinkies? How old are you, 4? I actually took this opportunity to Google 'holding pinkies'. Yes, I'm a nerd like that. Turns out, the phrase is an idiom of sorts. Here's what the urban dictionary says holding pinkies means, "Two people who consider themselves in a relationship, but in reality lack the level of maturity necessary to understand what a real relationship even is, or the ability to comprehend the level of emotional intimacy required to constitute a tangible romantic relationship. It is usually used to describe preteens caught up in the illusion of a relationship, but some people don’t grow out of this mentality as quickly as they should. The term is meant to convey the image of a lesser and inferior form of holding hands; accurately reflecting a lesser and inferior form of relationship."

Think twice before you hold any more pinkies, people.

#5 I absolutely don't approve of abusing social networking sites to proclaim your love to each other, over and over again. Statuses and videos and pictures and wallposts and tweets and tumbler posts and whatnot dedicated to each other. We don't want to know how many months you've completed together and we don't want to know where he took you/ you took her for your big special date and it genuinely doesn't concern us what you did on Saturday night. What's even worse is that whenever they may have the teeniest-weeniest of fights, they would update their relationship statuses to 'single'. Where did those days go when you slapped your guy right across his face when he was being an arse? I miss the good old drama.

#4 I am a thorough feminist even though I appreciate chivalry in theory. So in my head, the idea of men paying for everything, all the time seems almost sweet. But then I wake up from my reverie and shriek, 'Noooo!' I'm being blunt but the fact that certain girls/ women just take it for granted that men are going to pay, whenever they go out is disgraceful. My conscience would never allow me to do that.

Maybe I'm just an odd turtle. *Shrugs with indifference*

#3 In the Indian society, it disturbs me how people use the word 'love' so casually. They do not truly understand the intensity of the word, all the joys and baggage attached with it but they still tell each other 'I love you' because it seems like the only right thing to do after you're in a relationship. It's not! After you're in a relationship, get to know each other better and see if you can accept the other with all their flaws. If you accomplish that, there's a slight chance that you may be in love, no guarantees.
The concept of love at first sight is absolutely alien to me. Love is a very heavy-duty feeling and it takes time to develop. What happens in only glimpse is lust/ infatuation, not love. How hard is that to comprehend?
You 13 year olds, if you say you love each other one more time, I'm going to come after you with my cane. I'm serious, I have one.

#2 Here is my almost favourite love-to-hate thing about a relationship. PDA or public display of affection. Yes, you're holding pinkies. Yes, you're in a relationship with each other on facebook. Yes, you 'love' each other. Understood. Accepted. Dealt with. Lived with. But why do our eyes have to be subjected to all your hormone induced activities? Forget us, have some respect for your own mutual privacy and get a room already.

#1 I understand that relationships require time and dedication for them to work out and the person that you're in a relationship with is very special but I hate it when people's lives start revolving around their significant others. Long forgotten are those declarations of 'bros before hoes' and 'BFF before gigglos' or however those go. Long abandoned are those friends that were there in your hour of need, who would stay on the phone with you all night because you couldn't sleep, who were there to comfort and support you when you needed it the most. Yes, that new person is very special but so are your friends. Don't give up on them! They will still be there if and when this new someone special becomes old, boring and annoying.

This is enough hating and acting wiser than my years, for today. Signing out x

Apple of their eyes

She cradled me in her arms with motherly tenderness,
While he looked from afar, worried he might break me.

She was furious when I scribbled on the walls, exploring my new-found artist.
He was tongue-tied for the angelic gleam in my eyes melted his heart.

As I left home, on my first day of school, she hugged me tight, her face glowing with pride.
From the corner of my eye, I caught him looking at me through the window, tensed and apprehensive.

She bellowed at me and grounded me when I came home past my curfew.
He just nodded his head in disappointment.

Years flew by and I left home for good.
Her tears flowed uncontrollably as she ensured I packed everything I needed,
While he kissed my forehead gently and wished me luck.

I brought the love of my life home for the very first time.
She doted on him and fed him till he burst.
He sat in a corner, with a few words to say and an uncomfortable smile plastered on his face.

On the day of my wedding, she was by my side all the time, telling me how no bride had ever looked so beautiful.
He was barely in one place for over a minute, making sure everything was in order.

She cried her heart out as we took rounds of the sacred fire and said our vows,
And he wiped those tears that rolled down his cheek, as we drove away.

I am my mother's joy and delight,
And my daddy's heart and soul.

Have you?

Ever felt so sad you couldn't breathe?
Ever been so hysterical you almost choked?
As cliched as it sounds, have you ever felt your whole world collapsing around you?
Or felt so much pain that you're numb?
Or maybe cried so much that you start trembling?
Ever felt your heart sinking?
Ever loved so much, it hurts?

I...

I cry for those promises that were never made.

I weep for the future we knew we'd never have.

I grieve those dreams that were never meant to be.

I mourn for that part of me that died when you left.

I celebrate the love that had been.

How can one define love?
Is it in those ages you've spent pining over them?
Or the lifetime you were together?
Is it in how firmly you hold onto them?
Or how easily you let go?
Is it in the tears you shed for them?
Or the pained smile you smile when you think of them?
Is love in the passion with which lips meet?
Or in those stolen, painful glances?
Is it the intensity you feel?
Or the numbness that won't subside?
Is there love in the radiance of the mornings?
Or in the somber stillness of the night?
Is it when every inch of you writhes in agony?
Or when you lay calmly in peace?
Is it in 'Till death do us part'?
Or in 'We were never meant to be'?
Is love in those hands clasped so tight?
Or those fingers that barely touch, as you slowly drift apart?
Does love exist in gloating todays?
Or in the blues of tomorrows?
What exactly do you call love?
How does one define it?

L..L...Love

You talk of the moon, the stars, the skies
You talk of the valleys wide and mountains tall
I don't need the universe at my feet
Give me your love and that shall be all.

You talk of gems and jewels and gold
You talk of a huge diamond ring
I don't need these worldly treasures
Your sight alone makes my heart sing.

You talk of a mansion and balls and gowns
You talk of violins and us dancing slow
I don't need a palace, my love
Just a humble abode where our love overflows
.
You talk of eternal bliss, of a smooth sailing
You talk of taking away my misery
I don't need a fairytale, sweet lover
Just your hand to hold through life's bittersweet journey.