Let's talk.

So obviously there's a difference in sober, regular conversations and stoned conversations.
Stoned conversations are the best, no doubt. Especially when they're with U. He's like, the chillest guy to talk to, I've discovered. And I can actually talk to him about anything and everything without thinking about it twice. That's the difference between a guy and a girl, I suppose. With girls, you really have to think twice before saying something and then wonder if you shouldn't have said it instead, once you do. With guys, it's just so simple. You say it and then you forget about it and they do too, and the conversation moves on. There's none of that backbiting, and bitching, and gossip. It's so easy and non complicated.
So today was great. Sitting for almost four hours on the promenade at Carter's, just sitting and discussing big plans, relationships, mistakes, personalities, sex, childhood memories, money, partying and just being stupid teenagers and fucking up now and then. It was one of those moments which I actually cherish, because there aren't too many people with whom you can talk to one on one without feeling judged or stupid.
Stupid talks, haha. Lots of those happened today.
One of those things we spoke about was this; so we're looking at the horizon, and the sky's doing this three colour gradient thing. There's the lightblue on top, a thin line of orange in the centre, and an inky blue space at the bottom. So the skyblue line's full of all those people who play games in life. That's their area, they can do what they want. So the people they will find, also lie within the same strata. Their variety ends there. Then, there's the orange line, which is full of people who won't take risks, girls willing to wait until marriage to have sex, people who don't experiment and are firm and rigid, that category. Same rule applies. The inkyblue line, however, consists of the honest people. The ones who actually live life how they want to live it, and not based on games, or 'playing the cards right'. And funny thing is, the bottom of the layer blends into the sea, making it one. And the sea is endless. So there's all those possibilities you have open. Just.. an interesting concept and something I liked. So I put it on here.
Look forward to more conversations like that. Love them.

Every rule I'm breaking, the risk that I'm takin'.

So when I'm reading a book, or reading anything for that matter, I let myself stare hard and long enough at the pages till eventually, the spaces in the words on the page eventually makes a pattern. And it's unique for every single page. Try it, Just stare at the page, till your gaze goes blurry, and you'll notice how the spaces between the words, and the beginning to new paragraphs, all the blanks make a pattern. And they're shapes, and sometimes they form new words. It's really fascinating. I wonder if they're trying to tell us something? Nobody can really be that smart, can they? No. I wonder.
So there's still too much happening. It's never calm. There's rarely a moment where I'm chilling with myself, doing nothing, and there is not one thing on my mind that is bothering me. There is always a nagging feeling about something that is worrying me, or something that I need to do which I'm delaying, or something that can't get off my mind. Some people, some incidents, some whatstheirnames. Why can't I just switch my mind off when I wish to? I don't mind being completely dumb for a couple of minutes, if it's giving me peace.
I read somewhere, or heard someone say [I can't remember] that if we handed everyone in the world a joint and we all lit it at the same time, maybe, just maybe we could achieve world peace for those fifteen minutes. Really. Just trip on your own thoughts and actions and look deeper.
I try to focus on ONE thing, but I really end up feeling so A.D.D. So lost, and confused.
The year's almost come to an end, and how. I can safely say this year's been the most eventful year of my life, hands down. It has also been the worst. I've met way too many people, and too many of them have hurt me, and maybe I've hurt a few of them, because these things work both ways. I've made too many mistakes. I've passed opinions and judgements. I've fought and argued. I've lied, a little. Okay, maybe a lot. But specifically. I cried a lot, too. Over things I couldn't imagine I would ever cry about. I gave someone everything and got nothing in return. I played all my cards wrong. I saw way too many people falling in love, and out of it. I saw people die, and I met new people who changed me. I love the ones who made me feel special.
I'm still unable to think of 'love' or say those three words without feeling guilty/unsure/scared/insecure/embarassed. In that sense, of course.
2011, I'm welcoming you with open arms. I won't let you down if you don't let me down, either. Pinky promise.

That's what YOU think.

Take a deep breath, and relax. It's over. At least.. that's what she told herself. After almost a year of confusion and not knowing what she was doing, weighing her decisions over and over again to try and make sense to herself and justifying her every move was no easy task, that was for sure, but now, she was doubting herself all over again. Did she play her cards right? Not really, no. She had to stack them back up and redistribute them to go for another round, but life is too short for that. It doesn't come with a remote control to rewind and pause to that exact second when the introduction happened. She knew she was a masochist. Or she wouldn't have let it go on for so long. She knew she could very well have the power and the control. If only she wasn't so weak and emotional.
So now, after many 'almost-ending-and-then-going-back-to-the-beginning's, almost-heartbreak and almost-a lot of other things, she decided she was through. There was never going to be a 'what if', what was done was done. She had made all the wrong choices, and now it was time to make the right one.
She was quite content with herself.
Wieder geht es von vorne los.

"Some boy cats are pretty consistent."

Songs that won't stop playing on loop in my head

You, Me and the Bourgeoisie - The Submarines

Lions - The Features

God Loves Ugly - Atmosphere

I have this horrible tan from my Goa trip which refuses to go. It's mostly my face. I wish I'd carried some sunscreen. But it was an awesome trip.
I can't believe I'm saying this, but I don't like the fact that I have so many friends that I am close to. There's just..too many people. It's claustrophobic. I love every one of them, or like a lot, even. But I don't like the scene.

The cupcake story.

I came up with this story rather spontaneously while BBMing a friend from Canada. I think it's a work of art. All those who disagree will go to hell and face the devil. You'll see what I'm talking about when you're done reading it.

Ok there was once a boy who liked cupcakes. So one day he went to the cupcake shop with his best friend. When he got there he realised he had no money. So he decided to go back home and make his friend wait at the store. But when he came back, his friend was nowhere to be seen. So he asked the employees at the store "have you guys seen my friend? He was here a while ago.",So the guy goes like 'um no sir there wasn't any such guy'. So he called his friend and it said 'the number you have dialled does not exist'. So this guy's really freaked out now. He calls up the cops and reports a missing person complaint and the cops tell him to calm down .Yeah so he goes home and his mom asks him what's wrong and she says you seem really tense so I'll give you sleeping pills. So he takes em but he still can't sleep because that was his best friend and he's missing. So he takes a couple more, overdoses and dies. 
And then at the gates of hell, the devil meets him so the devil says,"you may enter because you have crossed your cupcake limit for this lifetime". So the guy is really offended, he's like what the fuck you can never eat TOO many cupcakes right?Right. So then the devil's like how dare you mess with me? and then they have a fight to settle it, And the devil gets pissed off so he curses him and sends him back to earth. But he curses him and says he'll never eat cupcakes again,So the dude's like omgwtf I'd rather rot in hell .But the devil sends him back..and then he decides to mess with the devil and goes to his favourite cupcake shop again. And when he goes there, what does he see? His best friend! :O And he's like duuuude where were you ? I almost died (lol get it :D) So then the dude's like I was waiting for you to get your money, Because I'm such a good friend and I had no food so I finished all the cupcakes and they were the last cupcakes to be ever made in the whole world..... "And that's what the devil said," said the best friend.And with an evil cackle he turned into the devil. ...And so the guy lived till he was 98 but never ate another cupcake in his life and died sadly. The end.

Brilliance in music.

I listen to Sigur Ros after two or three months and it doesn't fail to give me the same old chills that I got the first time I heard them. It's pure genius, their music. No other band can compare to the kind of feeling their music gives you. I mean, the first time I heard them was probably back in March? The first song I heard was I Gaer. Slow chilling beats which lead to loud guitar and drums, but it's nothing like you've heard before. You listen to Sigur Ros and all you can think of is floating in the cold mountains. Sitting by a river, alone. Dandelion seeds flying around you. Stillness. Space, snow, rain. It's the kind of music that makes you feel like you're one with nature. I might sound really pretentious right here, but really, you'd only know if you ever heard one of their songs.
I was just listening to Hoppipolla. The scene that comes to my head is a big branched oak tree, next to a lake. Green grass everywere, fading to brown. Sitting on a makeshift swing tied to the tree, and throwing your head back and looking up at the sky everytime you swing back, and the swing forward again. The amount of times this song has given me company in empty buses and trains, made me feel like myself when I'm on a crowded street full of strangers, and I close my eyes and all I can think of is snow.
It's not happy music, though. It's the kind of music that makes you want to cry. You want to silently weep within yourself and hope nobody finds you, because it is just so damn beautiful. Music in a language you don't recognise, in the male singer's comforting falsetto, you just get the chills. Svefn-g-Englar reminds me of my first real kiss. Two hours before it happened, I remember lying down on my sofa, with the air conditioning on, mid-day, texting him, and listening to Svefn-g-Englar. Discussing Sigur Ros. Talking about how their music reminds him on floating and falling into nothingness, and how it reminds me of snow and mountaintops. Feathers floating softly down on the earth.
Take me to Hopeland.

and this is how it is.

You're not just born empty of emotions. Free of guilt. It doesn't work like that. Something or the other happens, a really big incident, that alters your perception and leaves you changed for a long time.
Its just like making a Horcrux. You can't make one till you actually do something cruel enough to split your soul into parts, and only then can you feel no pain, because the harshness of the act was so extreme that the outcome ceases to make a difference.
So I wonder, whether everyone possesses a conscience. Because I think we all have the ability to reason, and emotion enough to judge what feels right for us and what doesn't. I fail to understand, how a person with feelings; someone who feels hurt, love, loss, happiness and grief... Does not feel guilt. Fascinating, truly.

What if everything was mirrored?
What then?
Would we stop recognising ourselves, and will everything merge into just one big colourful mess?
Shapes.

Turn the page.

So, I just happened to read a blogpost written by someone I know, and I was really amused. Why is it that people try so hard to be 'deep'? Why do you want to pretend to be somebody you're not? When it's forced, you can tell it is. It's a little obvious, and it shows. When you use fancy words just to make a point and use abstract figures of speech to sound very surreal and unique. I don't think writing works that way.
What you are is what you write. Atleast, that's how I see it. Everyone has a different way of looking at the spectrum. You're either on the violet end, or you're far away at the red one. Either way, you know what I'm talking about. The entire pretentious act of writing something that you are not, and then making it look like that's what you are is quite a fail. It's also disappointing to see how hard that person tries, really.
I remember the time when I was a people-pleaser. Now I look back on it and see how different I really am. I don't do things just so others come up with a particular reaction to it. I do it because I want to, I feel like, and it's me. It's what defines me. I don't care what you have to think about it. Honestly, if we all lived just to please others, we'd get way too exhausted of living in itself. It's one thing being yourself, and another thing trying to be what others want you to be.
See the last few lines there? Me trying to do the pretentious writing thing.
Not bad for a first-timer, eh?
Like I say, everything has to have a first time.

The winds.

let the wind blow and with it, let me change
carry with you all my sorrows and my grace
the leaves they flutter and the dust rises up from the ground
as it spins in circles
and let me feel liberated again.
I am a new person from this day forth.
there's a warm feeling at my fingertips
as I flex them and test them
You'll always be living in that one part of my head.
as time goes by, and the winds change again.
enveloping me in their essence
and carrying me away
To a new place.
Now, again.

I have so many pageviews. I mean, not so many but quite a few.
WHY DON'T YOU STUPID PEOPLE COMMENT?

Das riecht so gut.

We always find out ways to remember things by, keep little snippets of them for our memory's sweet sake. I wish you could do the same thing to smells though. Is there a way you can package and envelop a trace of a particular smell? So that even after five years, the person's gone, the smell's LONG gone, but you still have it. Smell it, and that characteristic trademark of her's/his pops up in your mind, and gives you the greatest satisfaction ever, for those couple of seconds.
Like right now, I wish I could just preserve the way Tiggy smelt, because goddarnit she smells beautiful. Musty, dusty and.. Just, very cat-like. There's no other way to describe it. Its a warm comfortable smell. Smells like home. I wish I could save the smell, for years down the line.

'Cause you know we'll make it through.

One of those moments when the song's over, but the beats still play on in your head. Like a cascading waterfall, like walking down an unending spiral staircase. The thoughts still resonate in your head and cause an internal explosion. An epiphany. You'll never be the same again.

[6] This is the end, my friend, the end.

Her head's on his lap, hand sprawled over the sofa and the other fumbling with the iPod in her hand. His hand is playing with her hair. Sigur Ros keeps playing on loop. Both of them are silent, and seemingly content. Then, suddenly she sits up and looks at him. Stares at his face for a while, a long while. He's puzzled, wondering why she's doing so. She sits up straight, looks into his eyes, and says in the most matter of fact tone ever, "I love you too."
He raises his eyebrows, slowly smiles, first a little and then finally widely. He leans in to kiss her, and she stops him. He backs off, confused. She's not done, apparently. "I love you too, but you need to know that this isn't working out for me." The smile slides off his face like runny paint on plastic. "What's the matter?" He looks annoyed, for the first time in his life.
"You know you're amazing right? Because you are. You're smart, amazingly attractive, funny, sweet, sensitive, and you make me very happy, most of the time. When you don't, it's not you, it's me. Yes, we hear it all the time in movies and read it in books, the 'it's not you, it's me' line. I mean it, though. I don't see this balancing. I'm crazy, short-tempered, extremely moody, hysteric, unpredictable and I need someone who can balance me out. You're-" she pauses, sighs, then continues. "You're too much of a dreamer. And sad part is, so am I. I like to dream big, and I like to dream of things that I know I will never get, and those dreams keep me happy. Also, I'm too unstable a person to be with. And I'm sorry, but you will never understand it, because you sort of don't understand the type of person that I am. You get carried away, and so do I. It's.. I don't see this working."
He's quiet. She wonders if he's going to cry. He's the kind to, anyway. "But why, baby? We can work it out." "Yeah, another thing. I hate the endearments. No baby-ing or honey-ing me. You know that." He looks shocked, and has a blank expression on his face. She still hasn't paused the music, he notices. So much for indifference. So it isn't him, all along. She justified it too.
"Fine." He gets up, and goes to splash some cold water on his face.

The morning rain clouds up my window.

Letting you go was the hardest thing I could do. I wake up in the morning, roll over to the left side and stretch my arm out, waiting for your fingers to intertwine with mine. Your fingertips tracing the cracks in my palm. Remember the times when you'd pretend like you were sleeping, when I'd try waking you up, and then you'd suddenly open your eyes and scare the living daylights out of me, and jump out of bed? But there's an empty space on the other side of the bed, a slight human sized dent. The dirty sneakers in the corner have magically disappeared. So has the photo-frame and the AC/DC poster. The usual pile on the desk is now replaced by a sober vase adorned with a couple of yellow roses. It doesn't smell like you anymore. Why is the carton of Soya milk missing? As much as I hated the stuff, I miss seeing it there suddenly. I pinch myself and hope its just another silly dream. Another one of those absurd moments where you're so convinced that its a reality. The clock is still ticking. The wind still makes my windows rattle, and I am all alone.

[5] Electric is the love.

He picks up the phone, and presses the redial button for the fifth time in a minute. Why isn't she picking up? Is something wrong? She's so erratic, it frustrated him sometimes. The way she just switches off and refuses to talk about her problems. Times like those where she got difficult, he really didn't know how to handle her. She'd go into one of her fits of depression. They lasted for a couple of minutes, or a few hours, and then suddenly she was back to normal. He thinks this is one of those. But he did nothing wrong. He held her hand when she allowed him to, he showed her love and affection, he bought her presents even though she detested them, especially flowers and candy. Such stuff always repulsed her.
The phone rings. It's her. He hurriedly picks up. "Why weren't you answering my calls? I was worried!" She replies on the other line. "Yeah.. I'm sorry. I was a little preoccupied with my laptop. Social networking and all, you know how it goes. My bad though, how goes it, boytoy?" He's glad to hear that she doesn't sound upset, angry or irritated in any possible way. That would have really bothered him. "I thought you were mad at me or something.. I'm sorry to assume." Silence on the other end. Then finally she speaks, "No, why would I be mad at you? Well, to be honest I'm a little mad at myself." Confusion. "Why is that? Are you possibly regretting getting into a relationship? I know you don't believe in them and all, but as far as I know, this is working really well for me, I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, and you made the first move here. You wanted this." She laughs, but a little coldly. "Whoa, wait, wait. I made the first move right? So you mean, I shouldn't have?"
"Why are you twisting my words, Alyssa? I said nothing of that sort. I only meant that you wanted this to happen, and you just got me to realise that I wanted it to happen way more than you did. You mean a lot to me."
"Really, now? How much?"
He doesn't know how to respond. A minute ago, she sounded fine. Now she sounded testy and impatient, with a hint of sarcasm in her tone. The sarcasm never dies, he notes.
"Well, for starters, I fucking love you."
Silence, on the other line. Finally, after five seconds, she replies.
"The first 'I love you' on the phone? Really? Jesus H. Christ, what do I do with you?" but she laughs softly after that sentence. A warm, friendly laughter.
"Well, it was unexpected, and.. I felt it, so I said it. I don't plan these things you know. But yeah I do, you know, love you."
"Gee, thanks, lover boy. Wait for your turn, though." and he can almost hear the smile in her voice, before she hangs up.
He closes his eyes and chuckles to himself. She's a difficult case, alright.

[4] Now something on the surface, it stings.

Dear Diary (she writes),

He's amazing, he truly is. I can not believe that someone with his sort of personality could make me this happy and feel so complete in life. He completes me. I believe this isn't just my affection, and that he has thoughts similar to mine about me. I'm not quite that bad, am I? I love the feeling when he hesitates and then holds my hand, laughs and then pauses. Then laughs again. Almost tucks his hair behind his ear, till he's told that he doesn't have long hair to be brushed aside, and he's just touching his sandpaper-y sideburns all along. The silly little grin always plastered on his face. The two bracelets he always wears; the Rudraksha and the black band. The smell of CK One on him. I always had this feeling within me, that nobody would come around and love me. Hold me, hold my hand, kiss my cheek first and not always my lips. Stroke my hair, play with it, put his arms around my waist and not care about anything else. Laugh at my lame jokes even though they're not funny at all. Not be cheesy and lovey dovey, yet be sickly romantic, so much that others actually feel like cringing. Not giving a damn about what others think. It's this brilliant feeling that completes me. He does.

x

She puts the pen down, and rolls back on to her bed. She half-smiles, till the thoughts start all over again. She can't believe she's writing things like this. Whatever happened to her one year ago? Anti-romance, anti-relationships, anti all things that had anything to do with love. Getting physical was one thing for her, but feeling real emotion was another. She'd given up all hope she had in anything real, after all the things that had happened. She doesn't know what to think. She suddenly feels highly stupid about all the things that she just put down on paper. So silly, she thinks. Nothing lasts forever. Within a few weeks, or months, he's going to be gone. Distracted by the thought of another girl, way prettier, with a better body, straighter hair, longer shapely nails. One of those Gucci and Prada girls, as she'd mentioned to him. In the end, that's all they look for. What was she thinking? She could never keep him happy. A boy like him needs someone equally optimistic to balance him. Not someone with erratic mood swings like her's, who randomly switches off from the rest of the worlds and closes herself up in a coocoon. He's going to eventually realise it, and leave her. She's sure of it.

She cries herself to sleep, with a feeling of self-loathe.

[1.1] a different take on Flames to Dust.

Always the awkward laughter to cover up the silences. You never learn do you? I look at you all the time. My eyes linger on your near-perfect features. That straight nose, the angular jawline, the expressive eyes. So much emotion. What a dreamer you are. You're just craving to let out your energy in any sort of artistic way aren't you? I'll be with you when you want to do so. Let's talk. I talk about my childhood. You call me dangerous. I stare at you some more. I try my best not to be obvious. Its silly when I laugh out loud for the jokes which aren't even remotely funny.
We're sitting on the terrace. Its dusk. Everyone's in the house, but we want to talk. I try breaking the ice. Ask you about your past relationships. Not many, you say. Maybe two or three. Oh? Surprising. Me? Nothing serious ever. Just really complicated shit. Drama. We can not talk about it if you like? Yes please, I'd like that. But I'd tell you eventually, someday. We look at each other. You're not going to take this further, are you? Awkward laughter. Its really not amusing. I'm sorry, I tend to laugh a lot. Hah. Yeah I noticed.
I look at you. I want to kiss you, I say out loud. You get tensed up, WHAT? I just do it. I look at you, bring your face down to my level and kiss you softly. Just a simple kiss. Then pull away. You say, whoa. Sparks. Haha. You're dramatic aren't you? You're quiet. Well. I guess I have to learn eh? I say what? You lean in and kiss me. First softly, then deeply. We get lost.

[3] Neon, neon.

He hesitates first. Then thinks about it, lifts his hand and slowly strokes her cheek. She snaps her head and looks taken aback. "What the..?" She's confused, but looks rather pleased. Her cheeks are pink, turning deeper yet, and she has a smile playing at the corner of her full lips.

"You..didn't want me to?" His awkwardness is so obvious, she could possibly see it floating like a jellyfish above his head and catch it in a net, keep it in a tank and use it to her amusement when he had his confident moments. No, she thinks, I'm not that cruel. She properly smiles this time. "What is it?" He asks again. "I'm sorry, if you didn't want me showing any signs of affection, I won't.. I won't touch you like that in public. I thought stroking your cheek would, you know, uh.. what are the words.. " He doesn't finish his sentence. She's still looking at him with a smile on her face, rather amusedly. She fiddles with her neon-green earrings.

She leans over and kisses the tip of his nose, wipes off the lip-gloss stain, and looks at him again. He's smiling too, by now. "If I didn't want you to, I'd probably kung-fu your ass to Japan and back, by now," she giggles. He's never heard her giggle like that before. It's so uncharacteristic of her. So.. girly. She does something odd, then. She puts her arms around his neck, rests her head on his shoulder. Remains that way.

"We're so different, I love it." He says, and puts his arm around her.

[2] In other words.. dishonesty.

"Do I seem wasted to you?" She suddenly asks. What the..? Why would she suddenly be asking him something like that? He really thinks he should reconsider the whole situation, now.

"Now, why in the world would you ask me a question like that?" He genuinely looks confused, she notes. Good, that's a first.

"No.. I mean, I'm just, uhm, apprehensive. I'm not one of those Gucci and Prada girls. I'm sorry.. I don't brush my hair ten times a day. I don't make sure my nail-polish goes with my clothes. I sometimes wear mismatched socks. My All-Stars are perpetually muddy. My watch is old, faded and cracked down the center, and I am probably never going to replace it with a Tag Heuer or a Rolex, simply because I've had this since I was ten and it means more to me than anything. I refuse to take my glasses off, even if I'm wearing the prettiest outfit I own. The kohl and eyeliner never comes off, even when I sleep. I sometimes forget to shower, simply because that's how absent-minded I am. I like grass. I like joints. I like bongs. I can't do without my black coffee in the morning, and my Marlboro Lights. I own more T-shirts than skirts. I'm an absolute wreck. Do... I seem wasted to you?"

The look she has on her face is one of the most genuine ones he's seen, on her, ever. She still looks amazing.

"You're really asking me that? I think you're amazing. Your half-bitten nails, the songs you sing in languages I have never even heard of, the clothes that you wear, the shiny shoelaces you always use to tie up your hair, the lime-green iPod which you guard with your life, the way you smell like Sunday morning... and that smile on your face. Especially when it's not there, and I know I'm the reason to make it re-appear. And you ask me if I think you're wasted?"

She hesitates. Looks away, ashamed.

"Look at me." Doesn't seem like she plans on doing so, stubborn girl. She's playing with her unlit cigarette, now. "Look at me, come on," he pleads. So she does. "We're strangers to each other. Do I really know or care if you're wasted or not?" He brushes off a strand of hair from her eye, as her glittery eyeliner shimmers in the sunlight.

The question remains unanswered.

[1] Flames to dust.

Always the annoyingly high pitched awkward laughter which he uses to break the silence, when neither of us have anything worthwhile to talk about. Only our fourth time together, but still so much to talk about, to know about each other. He leans back, and stretches widely, looking up at the dusky sky. It's getting dark, and I check my watch, cracked down the centre conveniently. I blink a few times, and gather myself again. Think again, trying hard this time, to come up with something witty, funny or atleast interesting to talk about. Not like I don't do that enough. Heck, it always has to be me initiating conversation.

Two of the crows sitting on the antenna fly away. They look bored too, come to think of it. I'm getting frantic here. I turn my gaze towards him, wondering what exactly he is planning on doing next.

"So, uh.. how's the writing going? Any new stuff out yet, which you have to show me? I haven't read anything new in the longest time!" I raise my eyebrows so high, you can swear they're almost disappearing into my hairline.

"GEEZ, you know how truly frustrating you are?!" I can't take it anymore. I turn myself completely, so I'm facing him, and him me. Our faces are close to each other's. His, confused, a little scared and slightly sweaty. I have a feeling it's not exactly the weather, either. "Whoaaa, wait. What did I do?" The nervous laughter again.

"We've met four times, right? We talk a lot, right? I get along with you more than I do with other boys... RIGHT? And I bet this is not a one-sided attraction thing I'm talking about here." I'm tapping my foot now, so it's clearly showing how impatient I am.

"Yes...?" he says, but his sentence trails off into nothingness as his cheeks get red. "Come on! Grow a pair! What the hell are you waiting for?!" I'm practically flustered by now.

"HEY! Did you just tell me to man up? Because I am manlier than you'll ever be!" Stupid laughter rings in my ears. Another one of those bad jokes, which I'd unfortunately grown to like. A slight smirk appears on my face, and then nothing.

"Okay, I smiled. I did, really. But I'm getting impatient here. Why is it that big an effort for you to actually make a move once in a while?" My heart's pounding a little. I couldn't get more obvious than that. I suddenly find myself regretting the last sentence. What if he doesn't feel the same way? He's silly. He's shy. He's innocent. He's a genius. He's nothing like the ones I am used to.

"Alyssa?" He says, slowly. I turn to look at him again, closely. He tilts his head. "I like you. You're different. You're beautiful. You're smart. I want to get to know you better." He's breathing rather rapidly. I can feel the redness climb up my cheeks. "You.. do?" Eyes widened, we're both looking at each other. Nothing else, nobody else.

We say nothing. Sit in silence for the next five minutes.

"Goddamn it! You still won't change, will you?" And with saying that, I clumsily pull his face down towards mine and kiss him firmly on his mouth. His hand creeps up my neck and twirls around my hair. His glasses are cutting into the side of my face, but I really don't mind. He pulls away, takes a deep breath and entwines his fingers in mine.

The remaining three crows fly away too, with the dusk.

Draft 2.

I wish he had something to remember me by. The particular way I smelled. Some stupid habit like twirling my hair all the time. The way my body feels against yours. A characteristic laugh. A bracelet I'd wear everyday. Like in the movies; he remembers the girl, the way she always smells of CK Summer, and wore the beaded necklace. He remembers, and sighs. The thoughts come rushing back to him and her smell lingers around, even though she's gone, she's never coming back. He wants her back.
Let me be that girl. Don't make me another face in the crowd.

Draft 1.

There's this tiny part inside of my head, like most humans, which tells me that no matter what happens and however messed up my current situation is, eventually things are all going to turn out the way I want them to. Everything will be alright, in the end.
There really isn't much hope left. Its never going to be how I want it to be. Yet that part in my head keeps convincing me to keep holding on till everything magically, somehow, falls into place.
Humans have a tendency to not realize their stupidity. I say this often and I really mean it. I mean, have we seen ourselves? Not in the 'look in the mirror and discover yourself' sort of way. More the third person point of view. We can always realise the other person's stupidity, but never our own. Self-pity is sad but inevitable. We all know it and still do it. Hypocrites, all of us. Selfish. Insensitive. Lustful. Forgetful.
The cycle never ends.

On this fated day.

Transition phase: Torture.
Attempt: Moving on.
Need: Heartbreak. Now.
Drastic times are finally here.
Early morning today, my grandfather passed away. He was feeling unwell, and they decided to take him to the hospital. On the way to the hospital, two minutes away from the gate, he took his last breath and died peacefully. He lived his life to the fullest, for seventy-nine years. He loved, he gave, he cared and he was one of the most selfless people I have and will ever know. The amount of people who are going to miss him will be endless.
I'm still in shock, and haven't completely digested this news yet. This post may be a bit too straightforward for my own liking as well, but it's the only way I can put it because my mind lacks imagination and motivation right now. I just had a need to write this down somewhere, so I did. And it feels a little better.
Now I know what my second tattoo is going to be.

17:08.

There are times like these

Where I enjoy not making any sense at all.

The slow motion of a local train

The stillness within the puddle of muddy water

The colour purple.

The baby in the hat cries.

"Shift in a little,please?" She says softly.

Cellphone keys and neon necklaces

Stolen earphones and melancholy thoughts floating

so far away from where I am right now.

This bittersweet solitary symphony.

She gets up and leaves, with one last forlorn look.

It's emptying out now.

Orange turns to red and then to white.

But the water's still grey.

How impersonal these little things are.

It's a lovely detached feeling.

Stop looking at me, please.

Oh no it isn't.

And the most convenient thing to do is to keep telling yourself, it's a phase, it's a phase, it's a phase..

Arriving somewhere.. but not here.

Never stop the car on a drive in the dark..
Never look for the truth in your mother's eyes..
Never trust the sound of rain upon a river..
Rushing through your ears..

His car takes a sharp turn on the empty, wet road and swerves all the way around to the side of the bridge. Must keep my hands in control, he thinks, and continues driving frantically. His hands are shivering, there's cold sweat on his brow, and his pupils are heavily dilated. He tries blinking twice, thrice. The shock still remains. How could he? He remembers the look in her eyes. That final look, that remained frozen as the sound of the gun reverberated all around the locked room. He was pretty sure the neighbours could hear it all the way down the street. Even though they hardly interacted with any of them. Too boring a life all of them lead. He's trying to think of something other than that final look. Obviously he can't. She was everything he had! She was the only one there for him. From the beginning. And he blew it too. Just in a second. Just in the pull of a trigger. That was all it took, really.

Did you imagine the final sound as a gun?
Or the smashing windscreen of a car?
Did you ever imagine the last thing you'd hear as you're fading out was a song?

How uncanny. The fact that November Rain was playing on that old, battered radio-set she used to listen to every evening, with the curtains drawn. The creaking of the rocking-chair audible even in the next room. She always asked him to get a new one. But he never did. Why didn't I do it, ma? Why did I get tired of this existence? The river flowing on the side of the road sounds so haunting in the midnight. It's the only thing he can hear. Apart from his heart rapidly beating, of course. His teeth chatter. Not so much from the cold, even though it's freezing outside, and the broken windows let the rain spray in through the sides, blowing a gush of spray and the chilly wind inside. Circling around him. Whispering, I know your secret, Jonathan. I know what you did.

All my designs, simplified
And all of my plans, compromised
All of my dreams, sacrificed

He keeps driving. He has nowhere to go. He has nobody to go to. There's nobody out there he loves anymore. Nobody he ever loved. The one person who he did love, is now wrapped up in a large black sheet, and dumped in the back of his car. Every time the car goes over a speed-bump, something goes 'thud' inside the car. We both know what that is, Jonathan, the wind whispers. Oh it knows, all right. "Ma." He softly whispers. Where is she? What did I do? He can't think straight. It was his decision. She goes first. Then it's my turn.

Ever had the feeling you've been here before?
Drinking down the poison the way you were taught
Every thought from here on in your life begins
And all you knew was wrong?

The tape plays on the TV. He's ten. His mother is sitting next to him, stroking his hair. "Your father took this video, Jon! It disgusted him to watch you come out from me, I must admit.. I mean, men, I tell you! They think they're all so tough but inside, they can't stand anything! I swear, honey. The look in his eyes when the midwife held you in her arms and gave you to me to hold for the very first time.. I'll never forget that look. Oh, I miss him all the time. But I have you for the rest of my life. I know he's in you. I see it all the time." He's barely paying attention to her. He's watching a lady, chesnut hair tied up in a tight bun, gloves on her hands, trying to pull out what looks like a real live person from in between his naked mother's legs. She's lying down in a bathtub, water surrounding her, and she looks like she is in a lot of physical pain. The nakedness doesn't disarm him as much as seeing the baby does. "Look honey! That's you!" His mother says excitedly. She has tears in her eyes. "Don't mind me, I get emotional every time I watch this..", she brushes a tear from the side of her eye. "I wanted a water birth. You were born in February, as an Aquarius. The water bearer! And all my other friends told me it was the smarter option, anyway. I don't regret it one bit."
The car's going faster and faster. He has no idea how much the speed is now. The rain is crashing down on the windscreen and roaring in his ears. The river is gushing along both the sides of the freeway. He's drenched in sweat. What better way to die than the way you were born? In the water, just where he belongs.

Did you see the red mist block your path?
Did the scissors cut a way to your heart?
Did you feel the envy for the sons of mothers tearing you apart?

"Ma, we're in this together."His last words. The car crashes deep into the river. It doesn't emerge to the surface for the longest time.

We play, endlessly.

I change my mind too often. I get bored too quick. Sometimes, when I want to get bored, I keep holding on. I tell random people details about my life they'd rather not know about. I make a lot of mistakes, repeatedly. Daily. I like being stubborn. I don't listen.

Is there anything right here?

Uff. I feel like I'm becoming a worse person as days go by, and I'm doing nothing to change the situation. Every day passes by way too quickly for me to even recall what happened and where it went by, in this haze.

The tendency of mine to tell a lot of people about my life has to go away soon though. I need to stop doing this. Too many people take advantage of it and then end up interfering. Then, they can't even be blamed for it. Because I was the one who started it.
I have so many ideas in my head, I want to put them all into a long story. Or a huge piece of artwork. Or a song. But somehow, I lack motivation. What is wrong with me these days, I ask?

I'm a deep person. Trust me, I am. You know me? Then you know I am. I'm right here in front of you. I've been everything you've wanted me to be. Then, why are you so blind? I'm smart. I'm funny. I'm moody. I'm sarcastic. I lack confidence, most of the times. I'm rude. I complain. I stress more than I should. I live. I laugh.

I also don't understand things. At all.

random insignificant facts about me.

I had this mad urge to write a blogpost with just random facts about me. I don't know why. Somehow it's purging, and things are falling back into place, but I don't wanna jinx anything.
Anyway. This is as random, as random gets.
1. I usually sleep in 'dead person in coffin' position. It's quite freaky, and amusing.

2. I tend to get very obsessive and attached to things or people. A quality about myself I hate, more than most things. And it's common knowledge how much I tend to overthink and over analyse things.

3. When I was a kid, around two years old maybe.. I smeared an entire jar of Vicks on myself, happily laughed about it till it stung so bad that I burst into tears.

4. Speaking of childhood memories, the scar on my forehead is a result of me climbing up my living-room door, spiderman style, till I fell flat on my face and had to get stitches. But clearly, this didn't teach me enough of a lesson. Because I did it again when I was seven. This time, with wet slippery bathroom hands. I think I have a total of nineteen stitches there. And a few on my lower lip too, but that's another story.

5. I always, always plan everything in my head. I'm constantly imagining how situations would go, but somehow I always like to see how they would go in my head, first. People's reactions, movements and conversation. But ironically, I'm quite a spontaneous person, I've discovered.

6. I love languages and culture. I'm currently hooked onto German. I taught myself most of the stuff I know over the past one year. My speaking skills aren't perfect, and I'm not very fluent, but I can manage. And I have a pretty good accent. If and when I am done perfecting Deutsch, I'm gonna take on Svenska next.[That's Swedish for you noobs. :) ]

7. I'm never been much of a computer gamer, always more into my Playstation. But I still love randomly talking in leet. It's so much fun.

8. I make too many mistakes in my life. Like my friend very rightly said, somehow I always think that situations will end up being different for me than usual. So I like taking the hard way, and still being rebellious and doing the same thing. And ending up at the same place where I was told I would end up. Then I get a million 'I told you so's. But it's my way of learning, I suppose. That way, I guess I have a guarantee that I won't fuck up again if something like that happens.

9. I still, to this day, have not figured out why letters turn to the right when italicised. Why?

10. Most people think I am naive. Because I act very stupid and make mistakes that could have been easily avoided. So then they end up thinking I'm impressionable and very 'herd-mentality'. But the truth is, I'm not. I see everything for what it really is. I approach the situation from every angle. But still.. I guess I end up being an idiot about it. That's just how it goes for me. And it's something I need to improve on.

11. Growing up, everybody thought of me as a tom-boy, with my short hair, and bushy eyebrows and oversized glasses. I'd always hang out with the boys, pick fights, bully people. I spent my lunch breaks playing football with the guys, when the rest of the girls would hang by the playground on the swings or the merry-go-round. But inside, I've always been a girly girl. I was sick obsessed with Barbies till I was twelve, perhaps. And I always experimented with make-up. I was and am very picky about the clothes I wear. I would design clothes on stick-thin models in eighth grade. I was an odd child that way.

12. I'm very very passionate about music. I don't care what others think, what sort of music I listen to, I'm very much in love with it. I love singing with all my heart and soul. If I had a chance to do something along the field of music, I'd grab that opportunity immediately. My dream is to become the lead-singer of a band. Start off by performing in some local pubs, 'til word gets around. Then there lies nothing but awesomeness in the future.

13. I'm very jealous of people who know what they want in life. Because I don't think I'll ever figure it out. But on the other hand, I do pity them. What's the fun in life if you know what's coming and you know you're going to get it?

14. I tend to intimidate people by my openness and my conversations. I don't know why. But it happens.

15. I've been wanting to learn the guitar over the past three years. Somehow, I lack motivation. And everytime I pick it up and learn something new on it, I always feel like I'll fail.

16. I have this feeling, inside of me, that I am destined to do great things. But I am such a lazy person. How am I going to get anywhere if I don't get off my ass and DO SOMETHING?

17. I do not believe in the social institutions of marriage or organised religion.

18. Yesterday, I was in Goa. We swam across the sea to a small island type rock. From where we walked a bit [I have a few cuts on my feet which I like to see as war wounds :) ] and then waded through the marshy waters. Later, we sipped cocktails and ate sausages and pasta blissfully. It was amazing.

19. My sleep cycle is so fucked, it's not even funny.

20. I love complicating things for myself. I am such a masochist.

I ♥ Random.

...And the thoughts keep playing over and over and over on loop like the repetitive techno which I so lovingly listen to.
I hate butterflies.