August 28, 2010

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.

August 21, 2010

'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.

August 20, 2010

[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.

August 19, 2010

[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.

August 15, 2010

[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.

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.

August 14, 2010

[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.

August 04, 2010

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.