If Love Is Pain Then Darling, Let’s Hurt Tonight 

She holds my heart in her hands and we sit to talk. I need to feel warm and she needs to feel safe. We are quiet at the moment but stars speak. Her eyes glisten like emeralds as she flips and turns my heart in her hands carefully examining it. And I’m surprised how there isn’t even one moment of fear that crosses my mind that she might drop it. Because I know with surety she won’t.

I have never been as sure about anything in my life as I am about her. I am actually glad she has my heart in her hands because I fear it’s her touch that keeps it beating. Without her love, there will be just colourless voids and a heart that keeps forgetting to beat.

So we sat to talk. We should have talked. We could have talked. But we didn’t. Instead we just lay together staring into infinite space that looked nothing less than pure magic. I wanted her to tell me things, anything. Lot of things. Everything. Just hear her speak. But her eyes were too loud for me to hear anything else at that moment. So I stared at her while she stared at the stars.

I didn’t want us to be mere accident like something that just happens one day unexpectedly. I wanted us to be on purpose- that just has to be for a reason. I wanted to love her on purpose and not like an accident.

She was a calm whisper in a world that was too loud. And although she was a chaos herself, I knew she could calm the storm within me.

She broke her eye contact with the stars and looked at me. And all it took was flash of a second, for me to know; I’d be a fool to let her go. Because she needed me as much as I needed her. And together, we were going to heal and glue back together our broken pieces.

It has always been her and me.

All those empty cervixes inside us that echoed with scars that still bled and thunders that still ripped us apart from time to time. It has always been her and me. And we, together, were going to heal.

Hence, she holds my heart in her hands to keep it beating, while I hold her close so she can breathe easy. I’m never leaving her side nor she needs to fall because she’s already safe in my arms. She doesn’t need to break herself anymore to prove anything.

I’m sure now, it has always been; her and me. And there is no way I’d rather have it be.

(Daily post: Corner, magnetic, homage, rhyme, critical )

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A Chaos Within

(Chaos: This week let’s embrace disorder and it’s creative power.)

There is this moment before the heartache. When you know it’s coming. It isn’t there yet. You don’t even know why you think it’s forthcoming but you feel it in your bones. Like your soul has felt it coming from miles away.

This moment before the pain is about to hit you and you know it will devastate you. It hasn’t arrived yet. But you know it will. And you know it will open the wounds again. The wounds of decade that took centuries to heal.

You prepare yourself beforehand. You are sure of its factuality. So there is this night, where you lay on bed and you don’t really know why your heart is sad. Neither do you know why you want to cry. But you do.

And then all of a sudden there is this moment of realisation that this is you mourning for what’s about to become of your heart. Which is already hanging through the gallows waiting for the final call to its execution. The strings are cut one by one with which it hangs firm and it slowly looses grip. And you know it’s about to fall. It hasn’t fallen yet. But you know it’s about to. You already know. And there isn’t one damn thing you can do about it. It’s inevitable.

It will come like a tide of the ocean that slowly builds. The more it gets closer the more ferocious it becomes, and you know you are going to fucking drown. You try to save breaths, prepping yourself for the impact. But you know no matter how well you’ve prepared yourself, the tide is going to come and it will break you. Like beads off a pearl necklace; You will spill. All the pieces of yourself that you put together one by one all this time will spill…just like that. Like they were never stringed together so tenuously to begin with. Like they had always been so haphazardly splattered across the floor.

Though none of that has happened yet. But you feel it coming and you know it will happen. So this night where you are trying to make sense of why you still can’t find peace? This is the calm within the storm. Where you know the storm will soon reach the core of you and you will be blown to smithereens.

And so, this is you; grieving.

Rain and Reflections

(WPC: Mirror)

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She was sitting on the chair that barely fit her balcony, her feet perched on the damp rusted railing. It had been raining since morning. She was onto her sixth cigarette and her first glass of whiskey, befuddled about whether or not she liked the rain anymore. Rain drops slipping down the glass window like their words that used to slip down her heart. Effortlessly. Some words used to scratch and claw at her throat as she would try to swallow them whole, like gulping down warm beer. Some words were like silk being dragged across thorns. Agonizing.

Her loneliness. That emptiness. That’s why she smoked. To fill those empty crevices that people left, with toxins. A splendid metaphoric reminder of how they took away her pieces and left her with nothing in return. Not that she wanted anything in return. Or maybe just love? Only love. Oh maybe she was asking for far too much, that silly girl. Who could have given her love? She was one glass of bourbon and one line of cocaine away from death. Hanging on to life by a thin string of her loneliness. That stupid girl.

Back to rain, so she kind of loved rain. It was an excellent accomplice to her demise. At least it was there as she cried. A perfect muse, to mask the tears.

But she kind of hated the rain, it reminded her of her solitary confinement within her own self. The way it would cover her feet with mud reminding her of how unclean her soul was. Fuck, she needed to drink more. She needed to drown her soul clean, even if it meant baptizing herself in poison. Rain was too pure for her. She was too contaminated to be cleaned by something so pristine. Maybe gasoline was a better option. Or even better, absinthe. She was meant for things like absinthe. Or rather things like absinthe were meant for her. That was the only thing that could handle the mourning in her every breath. Everything else was too feeble for her prowliness and too languid to supplement her solitude.

She was sitting on the chair, her legs crossed that once used to wrap around sheets so damn perfectly, her hair that once used to be gripped with conviction, her eyes that once used to reflect constellations, her lips that once used to bleed with passion. Now, everything seemed senile in that deafening silence that surrounded her. So she just smoked some toxins and drank some poison, and just hoped for the suffering to seep out of her being, pore by pore.

Vibrant But….

Weekly Photo Challenge:Vibrant But…
Sadness

I painted this piece a few months ago. It was very refreshing to paint something after years and the meaning behind it meant a lot to me. It is inspired by an original piece: Sadness by cutetaeminnie.

Note: My finals are about to begin so hiatus is inevitable unfortunately. My exams will extend almost the whole length of February. So I will see you guys after a month. Will catch up with all your posts after I come back.

Will miss you all dearly.
Love & Peace,

Zee ❤

SHE

I looked at her from across the hall…she was sitting besides the window, sunlight touching her flawless face, her dark brown hair loosely hanging from her shoulders, her hazel eyes gazing somewhere in the distance from out the window, one hand beneath the chin and one hand twirling something between her fingers- That beautiful creature, I sighed.

This is all what others saw, to be honest at first I did too. After all her beauty was remarkable. But this wasn’t it. There was much more to her than just a pretty face. As I watched her lost in her own thoughts, all I saw was someone who deserved nothing but unconditional love. What I saw were her scattered pieces and a tide that occasionally rose in her eyes, she was trying so hard to hide. All I saw was how she was silently screaming to be fixed. As the sunlight kissed every inch of her hair, soaking into her skin, lighting every pour on her face, I envied it, at least it was closer to her than I have ever been.

I didn’t expect her to let me in…All I wanted was to sit with her, hold her hands in mine, somehow take her pain away. Oh how I wished to just reach inside of her, hold her fragile soul delicately in my hands, nurse it, give it all the love it needed and even more. Shelter it, heal it. Even if it meant giving her away pieces of me to make her complete. I wanted to touch her face and watch it get flushed with color. I would make her complete even if it meant disintegrating myself. I would break myself to fix her brokenness. I would do anything for her. To be with her.

Maybe someday.

Today I’ll just keep looking at her from a distance like so many other times I have. Marvel in her beauty inside n out. Think of ways to love her the way she deserved. I was like a man who loved the ocean but was afraid to swim. And she; The waves; crashing my heart mercilessly, with each passing day.

What To Write?

This poem is as a result of collaboration between Maria And I. We were chatting and she suggested we should write something together but then we couldn’t decide what we should write about. So it just went from there and we came up with this. It was a pleasure writing this with her. Here is the final piece:

We can write about betrayal.
Or we can write about snow and fairies
We can write about a deep pit of sorrow
or we can write about rains that fall like mercies.

You are right, We can write about anything,
We can write about how life throws curve balls at you,
And then leaves you around to wallow in your misery
Or we can write about how beautiful it is,
The very small things,
Sunsets and the sunrises,
Flowers and the trees,
Birds and the bees,
Shooting stars, moon and the sea

We can write about love– the ever clichéd, vast word containing worlds
Or we can write about friends, who turn strangers, and strangers who turn foes.
We can write about sadness, how it gnaws one from inside
Bitter truths and false hopes, and how between it life flows.
We can write about anything, you see, as long as we can find light around
For when it turns pitch black, we won’t be left with even this.

You are right my friend, For writing is a spill way,
The words flood, With emotional tides,
Some times low, sometimes high rise,
It’s in these moments where we can’t do anything else,
We find words and pen them down,
For when darkness takes over, Even words seem to run short,
No light, no hope.

For the darkness is so so bad,
It leaves you around with all things sad.
And then you sit in the corner, waiting for some light to pour.
Until then tears are your best friend to hold.

Tears wash your face and stay with you,
As the loneliness tears every inch inside of you.
You scream and shout,
To let it all out
You hurt yourself,
You let it bleed,
Till all you are left with, are wounds and peels.

The HeartBreak

It’s funny how it works, your heart breaks into million little pieces, with sharp edges and cracks are everywhere. You try to pick up those pieces and in the process you cut your hands. So now your hands are bleeding. You get up to wash it and as you stand your feet come in contact with those sharp edges and now your feet are bleeding too. The pain gets unbearable and you fall uncontrollably on those scattered pieces. Now your whole body is covered with wounds, you are bleeding everywhere, every inch of your body is hurting. The pain is unimaginable now but you don’t have any other choice but to get up. Sometimes you wait for a helping hand to pick you up and put on some bandage, lend a soothing touch but you don’t have that luxury either so you try to get up yourself. You stumble and fall, cutting yourself deeper than you did before. Every try you make to stand up only ends up hurting you more but you do it anyway. You stand after all that struggle and manage to get yourself into a corner, Away from those scattered pieces,where you cry endless tears, trying to get hold of this pain that is consuming you. Slowly but surely the bleeding starts to stop, the wounds are still fresh though. You remember you’ve got a heart to mend, so you make your way towards those scattered pieces again. You notice by now some pieces are missing. You frantically search but all in vain so you decide to go ahead without them. You put all those pieces together bit by bit, like pieces of some puzzle, trying to figure out which piece goes where, which piece fits perfectly and which doesn’t have a place anymore,The pieces which are damaged beyond repair. You put days in days trying to put it all together and in the end you have this poorly patched heart, that is missing pieces, that still have cracks on it, unrecognizable. Worst is the missing spaces you have in between, where emptiness lingers. But you have to fill it up with something so sadness comes to help. She makes home in those spaces called ruins. Making herself feel at home, seeping into those oh so familiar spaces, residing and slowly taking over the whole heart. The heart is repaired at last..but it’s forever changed, not the same as before. Never can be and never will be…

It still aches from time to time, sadness becomes too overwhelming and the scars look too ugly. They say It’s up to you whether you wear those scars proudly or hide them underneath a patch. Whether you let the sadness take over or turn it into a beautiful work of art. They say It’s up to you but unfortunately it’s never as easy as that.

Darkness

Darkness come embrace me
I’m waiting for you
With open arms
Bring sadness with you too
I love her just as much
We will play games
Of tears and pain
Come, come soon
I’ll be waiting for you
Always.

In response to Daily prompt:I'm not hiding the inner madness.