In finer print...

Dear You,
You know right, its that face of yours, that expression that always gets me – the one where you want to be practical, angry and the man who cares a damn all at once, you’d melt away, giving in to your heart. That’s the most lovable part of you. I came to fall in love with that face and that simple heart. For a no-nonsense man of the world, you had a softer side. Your brooding looks coupled with a tad bit of cynicism, made you more humane. There was a chaotic calmness about you that drew me to you.
But, your constant niceties have now lost their charm and let others invade our world. What was innocent naivety is just foolhardiness now. It was you who once told that me that I am your world, far removed from the chaos of reality. But you have blurred the lines. You vowed to let of go of the toxicity and yet, today all it takes is a few tears and you are ready to let go of the past, ready to repeat the same mistakes.
Let me be clear; I won’t participate any longer. Today, I w…

Right now, everything matters and nothing does. The whys, the whos, the whens, and the whats. It will hurt. You will feel winded. And if you don’t, I’d be amazed. Every nerve in your body will be alive and kicking. They will feel everything and nothing; the ones that don’t need attention and the ones that cry out loud. You will be numb, and you won’t do anything about either of them. They will stew, just like you.
In that big head of yours, a thousand thoughts will plan a marathon and forget to take off. One might do, and you’d feel as if your head will explode. Your stomach will hurt and so will your throat for that lack of gumption, and the missing voice and words.
You’d look over a ledge and want to take the plunge, yet, give it up for another day. Walking away, you will imagine how you would look splattered all over the pavement, the colors of your insides splashed all over. But no one will know what these colors feel or say. Today, it will seem like too much.
You will head out o…

Source: Google Images
On days when the sun has abandoned us, hiding behind the grey, moody clouds. Do they sit inside their hills and wonder out loud? Do they stare outside at the rain, measuring the raindrops, letting thoughts splotch all over? Does the earthy petrichor take them down the memory lane? Or are they content with what nature has to offer? It is a part of their lives, isn’t it? They dredge up foods daily, diligently build their hills, even if it is to serve their queen, only to enjoy it on days like this, no? Maybe they do take stock of things, of their bearings. They ought to sleep it off, take a day to rest or do they lament on the lost time?
Unlike me.
When I gaze out, a gazillion thoughts fly by; some worthy of the pen, some so disturbing that I often question my sanity. I like the grey skies though. They seem like textured canvases waiting for me to scribble something. The lazy raindrops wetting the streets below and casting a temporary stain on window ledges bring a…