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.

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It’s You.

She tasted of gunpowder and roses, just as beautiful and just as dangerous. She was smokes and mirrors. A reflection within a reflection, a forbidden act. She was ferociousness and tenderness in the same breath.

In the moment as we sat on that bench, my body ached for her. She was too much and too little at the same time. Much more than what she thought and much less than what I was making her out to be. She was untamed, unchained and unhinged.

Her pain was fueling the fire in her belly. I knew I could get burned. I knew I had to tread with caution but damn she was worth the burns.
And so I jumped.
To fall into her.

(In response to Weekly Discover Challenge: Designed for You )

Do Not Fall In Love With Me

1) I warn you not to fall in love with me. You can’t. You shouldn’t. Just don’t. I’m crumpled sheets, the ones you keep trying to smoothen the wrinkles off of but never manage to get them sleek. The ones that are always creased. The ones that keep slipping off the edge, the ones that never seem to perfectly fit. 

2) Just don’t. Don’t fall in love with me. I’m that air which belongs to neither summer nor winter. I’m somewhere in between. The one that keeps fluctuating. That on some days is as warm and homely as a fireplace while on some is so cold it sends chills down your spine. The one that makes you wonder if ice is just as destructive as fire.

3) I urge you, Just don’t. Don’t fall In love with me. I’m like the moon that is nothing short of beautiful from afar. The one that you can’t help but admire from the shore. The one that fascinates you and even keeps you up at night at times. Until you see how ferociously it pulls the tide. How relentlessly and viciously it drives the ocean crazy. How it seems so thirsty to devour, hungry for madness. Then you run. Then like a scared little kid you stand on the shore as a spectator to its violent frenzy. As it rises and falls, as it crashes and quivers. As it breaks itself on collision with the rocks, shatters itself unaware of how it cuts the rocks sharp. 

4) Just don’t. Don’t fall in love with me. I maybe tender to touch but my heart is nothing short of an amalgam of few too many calloused scars. I humbly request you not to fall in love with me because then I’ll fall in love with you too. And then there are only so many eclipses you can take before you decide I’m too much to bear. Because there is only so much darkness you can stand and the tiring downcast shadow of its existence you can handle before you decide to leave . 

5) You will soon bid me adieu saying you can’t love me anymore and that I’m not who I seemed to be. So please. Just don’t, don’t fall in love with me. 

(List of reasons to why you shouldn’t love me. Written in response to The weekly discover challenge: The poetry of list-making )

The Poetry of List-Making