Undone.

The stories I never completed haunt me.
(All those beginnings and endings, the happy-ever-afters and once-upon-a-times; all the meetings and partings and bonds forged lost in the maze of lost things.)
The words I left unsaid echo in my mind.
(And in my head I say them all, and every time things take a different turn. Multiple universes springing forth from words suppressed.)
The touches i never made rake my skin.
(Scratches and gashes on burning skin. Trickling blood and warm tears and open wounds and pain,pain, and more pain.)
The laughter I never let loose lies trapped in my throat.
(Sometime i wonder how long before it chokes me.)
The doors I never opened creak on their hinges.
(They creak and sob and wail of destinies doomed and fates forsaken.)
The light from stars I did not see blind my sight.
(They burn and burn behind my eyes; the fire and wrath of the heavens let loose in a blaze that would put supernovae to shame.)
The tears I never shed lie dammed behind my eyes.
(Because I’m afraid that if I ever let them go, I will never be able to stop the torrent. Stinging saltwater and racking sobs.)
The screams I never cried reverberate in my lungs.
(Ricocheting again and again, clawing with desperation, seeking some release.)
The wounds I never acknowledged grow deeper, deeper.
(They’re digging all the way up to my soul, bones and blood and all.)
My heart is fit to explode with the breaths I haven’t breathed when all that was in me shut down, all those times.
(Every beat of my heart is the dwindling countdown of a ticking bomb.)
All that I haven’t done ghosts me, every day, every night, for all of eternity.

Gautami.

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Let there be light.

“It’s dark in here.” She whispered.
“Close your eyes.” He said. “And think of the light.”
Her eyelids fluttered shut;slowly,hesitantly.
And she saw it. In the darkness of her mind’s eye,burning softly,flickering in an imaginary wind, a tiny little candle;burning valiantly against the deep darkness. As she concentrated,the flame strengthened, rising in heat and height, consuming the darkness in its fiery determination. The flame burnt higher and higher, burning away her darkness in a blaze of red and orange and the smell of smoke.
It was the crackling of a campfire under the canopy of the dark, flames dancing to the tunes of laugher and lilting, happy voices. The smell of marshmallows cooking in the heat, the burst of warm sweetness against ready tongues. It was the warmth and comfort that was the difference between life and death on a cold,cold night.
The light changed shape. It was no longer flame,it was now the dim glow of a light bulb. And as she concentrated, the looming darkness dotted with circle after circle of yellow, light popping up everywhere; a city road at midnight, a sky full of golden stars.
She saw fireworks; rockets whizzing into the air, bursting into a thousand sparks, the colours of which stained the dark of the sky briefly,momentarily. She saw supernovae collapsing and exploding, burning brighter than all the flame in the world could ever provide.
She saw the final, desperate blaze of a star before its light was blotted out for all eternity; its swan song having no musical notes but bursts of final,frantic fire.
It was everywhere, bursts of light, dancing, dancing in soft footsteps. Footsteps of sunlight through tangled branches, of moonlight flickering in a pool. Of the silver glint off the edge of metal, of the tiny beams of light ricocheting infinitely off the surfaces of a diamond. Light in mobile screens, light in the great beacons guiding thousands home. Light weaving wayward rainbows.
It was the crackling quicksilver of lightning, it was the dull gleam of steel. It was many-tiered, glittering chandeliers, it was the small, fierce glow of a matchstick. It was the fluorescence of a thousand glow worms,lighting up the dark in their winged dance. It was the first soft rays of dawn breaking through the dark of night.
And above all, the light in all of us. The shimmering, inconstant starbursts of joy. The flickering hope. The lovelight that keeps us going, that makes the impossible conquerable. The fiery resolve and strength of mind that keeps us fighting, against all odds. The light of the soul, shining forth brighter than starlight and moonbeams and the rays of the sun blended together.

Gautami.

Dive

Let us talk of things that don’t matter.
Of the weather,movies and other inane chatter.
Let’s skate over the surface of everything, let’s skirt around ice that may appear even a little thin.
Let’s lock our hearts and seal our lips.
Let’s never say anything of note,
Squash any bud that may take root.
Let’s hide our hopes and fears.
Let’s hide our love,our hate.
But,Oh!
What if we dared to dive beyond the surface?
What if we disturbed the calm nothingness for some meaningful turbulence?
What if we aired out the damp mustiness of our locked-in souls?
What if we spread out our rusty,forgotten wings?
There is so much we could do,you and I ,if we only dared to hold our breaths and dive into the beyond.
But you just want to skim the surface.
-Nayantara

Posted from WordPress for Android

Holding on and letting go.

I am alone, and simultaneously not. For my pain isn’t new, it isn’t novel. Millions before have been through the exact same things, and millions after will,too. A pain as old as time itself. The balm in Gilead, of being strangely tied to some stranger halfway across the world because of shared suffering.
But I am hopelessly, hopelessly alone. The stranger across the world isn’t in my room at 2:56 am, watching me wither and weep, isn’t there to pull me into a comforting hug. No, its just me, and the million images of you in my head that play on and on like some customised movie designed for my own personal torture.
Because this hurt is deep. It’s personal. I could tell someone who would care just about enough to thrash the oft repeated words of how everything would be all right into my ears, and chances are that by some sadistic and miraculous twist of fate, I would, just for the fraction of a millisecond, let myself believe it.
But false hope is worse than absolute desolation, it is the haunting call of the siren, dragging you to your doom.
I’ve seen it all for myself. Even a blind man would hear it in your voice.
That look in your eyes when you look at her. I thought of a thousand ways to describe it,but I failed. Words have their bounds. And then my best friend told me, oh, so sadly. “It’s the same look you get when you look at him.”, and suddenly,no other description would ever fit.
The same look. The same radiant smile. The same touch, the same laughter. All on the face I’d been pining after, all the expressions I’d been longing to see. Oh, universe. You gave me what I asked for,you granted me my wish. You let me see what I’d been longing to. All of it, every little bit of it. Just reserved for the wrong person. (Be careful what you wish for.)
All as I watched. I watched the next great love story unfold, but I wasn’t the lead; I wasn’t the one cast with you. I was just a prop, a dispensable, minor character. I blossomed into being, hoping it would be enough, and wilted and withered as I realised it wasn’t.
But that’s the way life is. Bloomings and witherings. Meetings and partings. Paths converge and then diverge. Things meld and break apart. Hearts throb and break, and beat on. The little human walks on.
And I’ll do it. I’ll do it if it stops me from bleeding myself dry over someone who will never turn back and give me a second glance. If it stops my insides from cracking into jagged shards,razor sharp. I’ll do it.
(Even if it is delayed by a million backward glances and hopeful half-breaths and uneven heartbeats and the tears that sting my eyes like chilli powder.)
Because it isn’t worth it. Sacrificing yourself at the altar of unreciprocated love sounds so noble, resigning yourself to a lifetime of heartbreak and selfless devotion to one who will never know. Some of the greatest and most wept-over love stories hinge on this. And it’s all so beautiful to read, isn’t it? True love and undying devotion and all that.
Just ask the person on the other side of the pages how it feels.

Gautami.

The Purge

Why,hello uninvited occupants of my thoughts. Why are you back again?
You lurk in the mazes of my brain,pitch tents over my dreams,hijack my feelings.
And I really don’t want you there. I kicked you out for a reason,you parasitic little wretches.
I was tired of you sucking up happiness,comfort and contentment. Tired of the trail of heartbreak and disappointment,the fumes of regret and bitterness you left behind.
So,get out.
Out,out,out.
Leave my heart and my thoughts to better,worthier people. Leave it to fresh hopes and desires. Leave it for the ones that count.
Because I won’t stop till you’re gone. Washed off ,detoxified ,thrown out of my system.
I won’t rest until I’ve purged myself of you for good.
-Nayantara

Posted from WordPress for Android

Every now and then I fall apart.

They say falling apart isn’t that hard.
It isn’t.
The actual breaking, fragmenting is easy. It’s the buildup that aches, the steady and spinning ascent to the crescendo,before the steep freefall. The dizzy, nauseating moments on the edge of the precipice.
The falling is effortless. Wind whistling through your ears,the feeling of weightlessness as you wonder how this didn’t happen sooner.
It’s the crashing onto the ground that hurts. Sudden, jarring. No air to cushion your fall. Just gravity taking its course and the cold, hard ground under your broken back, stones and loose gravel digging,digging into you.
Breathing is a task; what with the air all but forced out of your lungs on impact and your diaphragm all knotted and twisted in you and your emotions churning,stirring wildly in you, you’re a mess.
And it’s easy for people to tell you that it’s going to be all right, that you will be okay, that wounds will heal and time will make it all peachy. And you plaster a brave smile for them,nodding, nodding, keeping up that godawful and honestly exhausting facade. Waiting for the moment when it too,will crumble as spectacularly, taking its cue from you. Because right then, right there, in the time and space that you are, everything’s not okay. And it’s not going to be either,in any of the immediately foreseeable future. In some weird, roundabout way,you’ve come to terms with that. (As much as a person can with things like these)
And you don’t need empty reassurances or hopeful epithets. Because fractured and fragmented as you are, no kings or horses or men will ever put you back together again.

Gautami.