I was your Home.

You made your home inside of me. You started slowly, placing brick by brick and fixing those bricks with cement and water. You came close, sometimes too close and sometimes; not close enough. You were there, enchanting and then you were gone. Your eyes would meet mine and for the rest of the night, I would search for my favourite pair. Then there were doors. There were tiny creaking doors and large doors with no handles and no locks. And suddenly you were everywhere. Your eyes were the only pair and your shoulder was the only one I wanted rubbing against mine. Your breath was synced with mine and your days were now ours. Your home had windows, windows that would open with no locks and windows that would stay open through the night. You’d walk in and grab by the hand and take me out for hours. We’d be by the sea one second and staring at the stars next. There was no limit to and there were no questions asked. Your home was chaotic and calm with a hint of lavender perfume in the air and a voice in my ears which always made my skin crawl and the hair on the back of my neck rise and that’s when I Knew that you should never build Homes in people because when you start slamming doors and shattering windows and painting the walls from red to blue and from blue to a pale grey, it Crumbles.

It crumbles beneath the sheer pain of abandonment and loss. It stands there on its bricks and mud trying to hold the life it contained within it, only to find that you can build Houses but sustain them with Life and only then can they become Homes.

I was Home and when you left, the doors broke off of their hinges and the ceiling crashed against the wall. There were shards of glasses everywhere. There were mirrors and frames and photographs and records and posters of your favourite 70’s rock band and that the last remnant of your most worn hoodie and your mother’s jewellery box which always had my ring. They were there but not anymore. They shattered under the agony of hearts falling apart and fates falling together and only then did I chant, “Never build homes in people, because they will burn and break and you will leave the four walls barely standing”.

You left a flight at risk without a fear of falling.


Hold it Close.

You stopped. You hadn’t stopped for a while, but you stopped today. You stopped on your way and didn’t take the turn home. You took your heavy load of books and bags and went straight ahead. You walked where you hardly did and you realized that you really weren’t paying attention, Life was getting too hectic and it was in the habit of doing so but life was also in the habit of placing the most beautiful, the most mundane right in front of you and leave it upto you to do more than just look.

Take the wrong turns. Stop for more than just a minute, stare for a while longer. See more than you look. Take less pictures and make more memories. Let life stump you beyond words and beyond comprehension. Let there be a little of orchestrated chaos in your life. Remember that you cannot always control how this weird, wonderful life will play out but know that this is your life and at the end of the day even though you cannot control what happens, you can change how you look at this and you can turn a frown upside down and you can always stop for a little while and live in the ordinary. Life is too short and too long on days like today and I just want you to know this is ours to take and ours to grab and it may not always be great but turn it around.

Throw away what you don’t like and alienate those who make you feel less than. Take some goddamn charge and take whats meant to be yours, what was always meant for you and hold it close.

I wonder.

Look at us. Look at the distance between us. This distance; I can stretch my arms and cannot reach you and that is the definition of distance; to not be able your bones against mine, to feel the shiver down your spine go down mine too.

Look at us. How did we get this far? How did we get here at all? I am standing here and you are standing there and in between us there is this huge wall of hurt and remorse and pain and resentment.

You used to like me at some point didn’t you? You used to like nudging shoulders and having me close and having our breaths in sync, the rhythmic rise and fall of our chests; the slight smiles always on our faces. You used to like me before.. right? There was something and I didn’t make it all up. But look at us now.

I want to hold you close and feel your ache as my own and to feel the words coming out of your mouth fall right into mine and to understand your pain as my own but you are too fucking far. You don’t want me to share your parts anymore. You don’t want me to breathe your air and to share your moments to and stumble and fall my way into your arms.

You refuse to take me as your own and you refuse to acknowledge Us. You refuse you to take a step forward and you refuse to let me hold on. You make it hard on purpose and you make it impossible to leave. You reel me in and push me away and you slap the door only to leave it unlocked. You look straight into my eyes only to break away the contact and you brush past my hands only to remind me what it was.

You seep into my skin only to settle down but never going deeper than skin. You used to make up my bones and every fibre of me.

Now you sit in my skin and keep me wondering.

This is Us.

You walk past me, to me and stand right next to me. You stand without a word and I know it. I can feel your smile creeping onto your face and it reaching your eyes and traveling down to your shoulders, where yours ends and mine begins and this smile latches onto to my face and my muscles instinctively know what to do and they smile not knowing why or when or for what but they do as they are told (or not told) and we are both smiling and I look up at him and say, “Why? Why are we always doing this?”

He laughed, a long hearty laugh that arises from the heart, travels upward to the throats and comes out as a gurgle of water in a river bed and I burst into giggles and this is how it’s always been . Easy. Nothing with him was ever torture or lamenting or waiting. It was easy and straightforward and if there was a problem it would be sorted with ease.

This is US. This has always been Us. Its been magic and tragic. Chaos and Wonder and through it all, I’ve worn heels and flats and boots and skates and I’ve run and fallen and jumped and screamed and He’s worn a jacket and a sweater and woollen gloves and gone three days without being able to find his clothes and I’ve laughed and cried and he’s held me close and laughed with me, at me, for me and I’ve stayed here wondering what went wrong and what went right and it’s been easy and maniac but would you look back and want anything different?

He looks down and says, “Why not? We are not here for the Forevers and Always. We are not here to write the perfect little passage on roses and blooms. On becomings and un-becomings. We are not here to do exactly as we are told and to bow when needed to break our backs for the rest. We are here to blaze fire as we stand and melt glaciers as we breathe. We are here to live on impulse and the magic that is created with the friction of you and I. We are here to scream at the top of our lungs and shout from the highest peak of a mountain, to run a thousand beats per second and to laugh with no need and to let the tears flood when there is a need and that is what we are here for.

We are not here for the happy ending, we are here for the Goddamn Story.

At Arm’s Length.

“At arm’s length. All problems need to be at arm’s length. There should be nothing that should prevent me from taking care of Myself and putting Myself before anyone else. That is why, it has all Got to be, It is almost imperative for all problems to be at arm’s length and that is the only way that I choose to live this life of mine. Its mine and I choose to put myself above the toxic and cruel nature of words that go around being carried out by thin air and noise that resonates from a source far away into my ears and that is what I will prevail against. All of these vicious words and these horrible noises will be exactly and Only that. They will not become my problems and they will not hinder with my being and they will not prevent me from waking up every morning with a goal and a will to live. I will not let this drag my feet down and want to curl back into bed, where oblivion was really Bliss.
I will prevail and they will be at arm’s length. My arm’s length is where everything useless and toxic shall stay. “

Beginning Again.

I think endings are so overrated. The fact that good things come to an end is the only certainty that we have in life. This isn’t an epiphany and this isn’t the greatest discovery in life.  But Beginnings come unannounced and leave you in the midst of your life and these are things that are far more frightening than endings. Because often times, endings are held up by expectations and beginnings are tied with oblivion.

And the messiness and the uncertainty of beginnings is so underrated. The fact that you could have met someone today and be married to them 10 years down the road is the most bizarre and truly astonishing thing. Beginnings are filled with zero expectations and no hopes tied to it and that is quite a blessing.

Words (Mine and Yours)

I want to write to you, I want to write of you and I want to write about you. I want these words to be on paper. I want these words that I have swallowed and crushed so deep within my soul that they are now just ashes and burn wounds- to come out, out into the open and I want to leave them here for you. I want them to lie here open and unaware; open for you and everyone to read over but most importantly for you to memorize them and remember each word. Know that these words were written for none other than you. These words belong far more to you than they ever did to me. These words were yours even when they were in my head. These are for you memorize and for you to remember. Remember every curve and every edge of every alphabet that I have painted with my soul.. is just for you.

I want the sound of paper against pen and pen against paper to be the only sound that I remember for that will be the heartbeat upon which these words were written and you shall be the muse for whom these were written. I want the friction of pen against paper to create a sort of fire that burns all the bad that you have ever witnessed and ignites a fire so big that only I can contain it.

I want the words to flow and flow and I want your fingers to follow every word of what I write here to you and for you and only about you for these words will probably be the last meaningful that I write for a while.

I want my words to be the only words that you remember once you’ve finished reading. I want my stories and my whispers echoing in your head when you lie awake and uneasy at 3 AM. I want it to be and me only. I am selfish like that but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I am coming loose, undone, broken.

A sea of memories, an ocean of people. A thousand stolen moments and a gazillion smiles shared across rooms. About a billion reasons to stay and a few thousand more to leave and here we are, two years later; forever living in the past and in the moments we created that have now turned into golden memories that will somehow never return.

Home no more has a soothing effect. It is no more comforting. It does not cocoon me into a blanket of “take care” and “Its good to have you back; I missed you” But is a constant reminder of a life that I once used to live. Home is no more safe and warm; it is a constant reminder of the past and the choices that we made to leave and not look back.

I am forever living in nostalgia and the waves and pangs of hurt and grief and the tears that I’m always choking down and the thoughts that I’m always pushing aside and the reasons that I’m never really addressing and the words on my tongue that I’m always biting back and the hugs and sobs that I’m forever yearning for but never asking; never saying too much; never letting the mask of “okay-ness” slip away. Never letting you know that home is no more a sanctuary but a rude awakening; a reminder of everything that I ever wanted to leave behind but as I step foot into this place called home, I am pulled back into moments and memories that I didn’t even know my heart could store and places and people that I didn’t think would stay with me for so long. I am forever longing for the feeling that i used to have in the bottom of my stomach and in the heart of my heart. I am craving the laughter that I haven’t had in a while and I am craving the feeling of being surrounded by the faces that i grew up with and the places that remind me of another that i did once live and will never live again.

I am standing here; crumbling. I am sitting here, constantly falling apart. My existence is coming lose and undone and my thoughts an amalgamation of overwhelming sadness and grief that I didn’t know a heart could retain. My mind is a fuzzy mess of beginnings and endings the betweens that brought me joy at one time but are now only a bridge between the now and the then.

I am coming lose, undone and broken. I standing weak and falling and breaking. I am here and now I am not. I was and I am. I will be and I wont ever.


Perfect Strangers

Of the few pleasures in life that I was entitled to, laying beside you wide my arms wide open and my eyes tight shut; I realized how truly magnificient it was to hear you snore softly throughout the night, almost as if you were purring. It struck to me, not for the first time that beauty isnt all smiles and laughter, its the knowledge that you can sleep through the night and that my arms will always welcome you and my heart is no more a stranger to yours and this tranquility, these beautiful moments that I seize onto and snatch away from life what life can’t snatch away from me,  will get me through the rest of my life.

Here I am Alive.

Here I Stand. Relaying my words to you, reading out my story to you. Here I stand. Writing down all the words that I have ever known and all the stories that these two eyes have seen and all of the hearts that these two hands have held and all of the tears that have been shed from these eyes into these hands and have brushed against crumbled skirts and loose sleeves and have been shed for once and for all; never again.

Here I lay, beneath the open sky and on a patch of grass that isn’t the greenest. Here I lay and here I lay to tell you that the worse is yet to come and the best is always looming behind it. Here I lay to tell you that no matter what colour the grass is, as long you’re laying on it and you’re laying long enough to tell your story, You are enough. That is all that matters.

Here I sprint. Sprint away from all that has ever haunted me and all that will forever take away from me and all that has little bits and pieces of me and all that owns me. Here, I run away from them onto a place which accepts my broken and incomplete self because all that is broken does not need mending but healing. And all that is shattered will rise from the deepest browns of the earth and will fall upon you from the highest realms of these skies.

Here I fly, fly into the starry sky which has never once failed to awe me. These starry skies are my kryptonite and I shall never ask of you to come with me but if you may, my hand is held open and my heart’s doors always creak open for you.

Here I stop. Stop right in front of you and stop only for a brief moment. I ask you, “Are you here? Are you alive? Do you feel your heart racing and your body tingling and your ears thrumming with the beats of a new tomorrow? Does your mind say yes to your body? Do you want to get out of here? Do you want to go up up and away?”

Here I wait, Not for long, but I shall patiently and keenly wait for the greatest question of them all, “Here I am before you, Am I enough?”