Sometimes I just wonder if going through all of it is worth it. This whole internet life, social networking, posting pictures of your life online, It's just not my thing. Not anymore, at least. Yes, there was a time when I would go up and post pictures on my instagram just because it was the "cool" thing to do, but I just don't think it's worth it anymore.
Aches in the head are bad,
Sprains in the neck are worse,
Injuries to the bones hurt the most,
Paper cuts pierce like swords,
Nothing can match
the pain of a heartache,
a tortured heart, a bruised soul ~
He knew that he has loved only one person with so much purity that he completely denied his own being, it was her. And he suddenly knew that if he died, she would die too. Maybe not immediately, maybe not with the same blinding rush of pain, but it would happen. You couldn’t live for very long without a heart. The illness was lethal, he couldn’t stay, wait to love her more. He never told her as it’d kill her. Just moved apart. But he knew it, it’ll hurt more than being dead. Of course, suddenly stopping talking with someone you’d hear more than your voice is always difficult, no? Intentionally creating walls where the souls are interwoven is always like cutting your limb because you don’t like it anymore. He knew, he’d never live in peace but you do hurt a little to save the dear ones from the massive pain, don’t you? He wanted her, he needed her, she has been the reason behind the every laughter he cherished and every prose he wrote. She is his Goddess. Who’ll know how to uplift him from the depths of agony and celebrate the little smiles along him. Who seemed to have born to hold onto something, which was slipping off his fingers now.
He asked for his life in temples and churches, and in the mosques and prayers hall. He begged the Lord at every corner, in every hour, at every edge. Just to stay with her for long.
But it couldn’t happen, of course, few stories are just left in the middle such that they pierce your souls and shower heartaches over your fragile being… He wanted to gather up all the ink in the universe and write in immortal words to her, the way he loved him – every moment, every season, every time.
He would have died by now, but she never got to know about it. The unlimited texts and calls, mails and messages, nothing could console her anxious soul. She was in the consistent lingering pain of waiting.
” I have a remarkable memory, I remember everything about you. I’d remember this indifference which has gutted me to the bone.”
After not getting to hear from him though being trying for the 100th time, she threw her phone on the floor and cried herself to sleep.
The death day!
To the love of my life,
“Things are never as they seem. A person. A Mark. A statement. They are always deeper than we perceive, like walking in the ocean and suddenly dipping under the surface because the bottom has disappeared beneath your feet. The water appears shallow until you are suddenly flailing around beneath the surface, desperately searching for stable ground once again. I have lived you in every breathe and called out your name in every voice. From the laughter at the bus stand, to the silent gazes in the library, I’ve grown up with you and your love. I have loved you more than ever after sipping the last drop out of my coffee cup and finishing every novel along the river’s side. I have seen your face in the setting sunsets and lived your smiles in the morning rays like hopeful fumes. I have felt you along the strings of guitar and every single star. I don’t know any other way of loving you but this. I have loved you with a wretched heart and a torn soul. Moving away from you cost me ripping out my own lungs and putting my heart on my sleeves where it got brutally injured. I loved you even in the last breath I will be going to take soon. I lost my self in your love, in your vibe, in your presence, in your touch. I knew from the very first day I saw you, that I’ll live for you and die with your name as well. It’s About loving you. When you love someone so much. And when we have a argument. I felt like leaving you for good. And you decided not to leave because you love me so much. And way later we say sorry to each other and forget the argument we just had. And we could be happy, say I love you and I’m sorry that we have a argument we just had! And it’s hard to let you go! And you wish that you could have one another back. I love you. I love your smile, your snarl, your grin, your face when you’re sleeping. I love your hair streaming out behind you as we fly, with the sunlight making it shine. I love seeing your smiles spreading out. I love your eyes, whether they’re cold or calculating or suspicious or laughing or warm, like when you look at me. I love how you move your hands while you talk as if you are explaining it to a little kid like a kind mentor, I love how your presence gives me hope, the mere thought of your being. I’d go and you’ll think you’re lost but you’re not lost on your own. You’re not alone. I will stand by you, I will help you through when you’ve done all you can do. If you can’t cope, I will dry your eyes
I will fight your fight, I will hold you tight and I wont let go
I know I’ll write you a letter which will start from I love you and end at I love you, and there would be a heartbreaking good bye but I just wanted you to know that I have loved you all my life, and I will love you for decades more. May be with a dead heart but a living soul.
All you wanted was my existence, I couldn’t get you that. I am sorry… I will die soon…”
She couldn’t even complete it fully when her hands started trembling badly. She burst into tears. It felt like someone punched her heart forcefully and stabbed at her back so brutally that her rib cage crushed. She felt like someone has dug a deep pit and put her into it, suffocating her to death. She couldn’t move her limbs. Her lips turned blue, face pale and she suddenly screamed with quivered lips.
I know I’ll probably die tonight. It has been 3 months ever since he left me alone in this world and I am mere breathing. I’ve not felt a single heart beat and sensed a single touch. I wanted only one thing in this life and it was his presence. I know what love is. When you find the person you are supposed to love, bells ring and fireworks go off in your head and you can’t find the words to speak and you think about him all the time. When you find the person you are supposed to love, you will know by staring deeply into their eyes. I have loved him in despair and dismay and all the lively happy hours. From the nostalgic sunsets to the passing by trains, from the rushing waters to the green meadows, from the early mornings to the late nights – not a single moment when I didn’t feel his presence. Remembered him. I loved him with the first sip of my coffee and the last splash of my paint brush. I loved him in the most silent and unique ways where my own soul wouldn’t be aware of what I’d do. I loved him not only for what he was, but for what I was when I used to be with him. I loved him not only for what he made of himself, but for what he made of me. I loved him for the part of me that he brought out. I have been living with a constant heart ache…….
Her lips quivered and her heavy heart felt like being ripped apart into two pieces. She was crying and continuously playing his favorite tunes on his very own guitar. For a while, she stopped and poured the hot black coffee inside her torn soul but then again the agony of pain rushed with a new flow in her veins. Around were all those letters they wrote to each other, the snaps, presents and huge fumes of nostalgia. She was crying, trembling, dying at the same moment. The moments she spent with him were passing in front of her eyes like a movie reel, taking a long her every heart beat.
Somewhere between the torture and the fantasy of his presence with the heart wrenching tunes, she slept herself to death after living a meaningful smile given for his picture in front of his eyes and murmuring his last words to own self,
” I love you more than I love my guitar. It pierces my fingers, cuts my skin, rip opens my flesh. Still I keep on playing it. See, that’s how I love you. Intensely. Painfully. I love you more than I love my black coffee. It calms my soul. Soothes my nerves. But it never denies to accompany me. I love you silently. Dangerously. Deeply.”
And that’s what happens to true love, faithful hearts, devoted souls.. They turn into unfinished stories.. The stories which hurt..
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.” A lot of atrocious thoughts were ballsing up her head since many days. These were not insecurities. It was just her genitive, unconditional love.
“He’s not perfect. I know that. Neither am I. I know that too. And together, we won’t be perfect ever. I am pretty sure about that too. But if he makes me laugh at lest once, causes me to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes. I’ll hold onto him and give him the most I can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, write long romantic narratives, he might not be thinking about me every moment, but he will give me a part of him that he knows could break me. I know, my heart says, don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you.”
She closed her diary with this note, cherished a smile, and breathed in air of unfeigned bliss; incognizant of the chaos that was about to hit her life.
It didn’t do any good to them. Distances never do anything better to relations. She was feeling this huge, thick, cold slab of indifference between herself and him. She has been trying to talk to him, several calls, texts and all the efforts, but no use.
There was this long list of things on her mind. “Yes, they don’t teach us in school how to not love. They don’t teach us how to embrace heartaches. They don’t teach us how to ignore someone. They don’t teach us how to know what’s going on in someone else’s mind. They don’t teach us how to walk away from someone you don’t love any longer. They don’t teach us what to say to someone who’s dying. They don’t teach us anything worth knowing.”
She was feeling a sharp, piercing pain inside her soul. He was her world, the reason behind her every smile, a question she’d love answering all her life. She was feeling this fear of losing him. She was sensing this thick air between herself and him. She was feeling, he doesn’t belong to her anymore. It was not a naive, fragile bond of yesterday. It was a relation she grew up with. From the long calls, to those silly laughters, from rushing together to catch bus on time, to being all sophisticated in front of teachers – they lived their every single breathe in it, in their love.
“Falling for someone can be a lot like playing roulette. You don’t know what will happen when you place that bet, but you can take a deep breath anyway and put all the chips out there. And when the ball spins around and around, you pray it lands on your number. Probability says you’ll likely lose, and in this game of love with Leo, odds were I would lose, too, but I had to try.”
For a fraction of second, this very thought made her tremble.
It was scary. Of course, losing a loved one is always horrific. You’d not like someone tearing apart your chest and ripping out your heart, crushing your rib cage, suffocating your spongy lungs, popping out your eyes and breaking your bones to get the marrow out of it. Oh, did you imagine the physical pain? That’s what love does to you, it destroys souls!
The indifference stayed there. It was not him being cold, but his fate’s ball rotated so wrong that it kept him closer to not break the ice. He knew that sooner or later, he’ll die. It was lethal, he could not be cured. But he loved her so much. When you love someone so much that it starts hurting you, and then you can not see a single sad feature on their face, right? He knew that the news of his illness would shatter her, tear her apart, kill her. And he’d not want it ever to happen.
“I will love you always. When this red hair is white, I will still love you. When the smooth softness of youth is replaced by the delicate softness of age, I will still want to touch your skin. When your face is full of the lines of every smile you have ever smiled, of every surprise I have seen flash through your eyes, when every tear you have ever cried has left its mark upon your face,I will treasure you all the more, because I was there to see it all. I will share your life with you, Meredith, and I will love you until the last breath leaves your body or mine.”
He thought with tears in eyes, while fighting for his life on the death bed in this cold room of hospital. He ended with a gentle smile, the moment, he thought of her name.
They say, hospitals see more prayers than temples. Can not God listen to my single prayer and make me live for her? For her fragile soul? For her innocent smiles? For her pure love? No? God can not even fulfill my single prayer. Is he going to put a history by doing the first heartbreak in these walls where hearts are mended.
He felt so helpless that he screamed out of sheer pain. That’s how atheists are born. When few hearts are broken, few prayers go unanswered, the calls in vain, hopes unfed, hearts broken.
“Helplessness is such a rotten feeling. There’s nothing you can do about it. Being helpless is like being paralyzed. It’s sickness. The cure calls for a monumental effort to stand up and start walking somewhere, anywhere. But that takes some doing.”
He murmured silently to himself. All he could do was to isolate himself from her and die silently. He was doing so. Though, feeling like getting stabbed, gutted, numbed and dumped – he was doing it. Just for her. To save her, from the greater grief.
I feel like ripping out my heart and screaming out my lungs. I’m losing the purpose of my living, my breathe, my every single deed. I am losing him. This damage is going to be permanent; there would always be scars. But even the angriest scars faded over time until it was difficult to see them written on the skin at all, and the only thing that remained was the memory of how painful it had been. I know, these empty sympathies and fake hopes won’t work. The distances, the air of irrelevancy and all these miles between us have now separated our hearts too. My ears are habitual to listen that voice, everyday! My soul is habitual to sense that touch, my heart used to touch that heart, my lips used to talk to him. But now, it’s been six months, I’ve not listened to the person who is the real reason behind my every smile. But it was unnecessary, there would be other nights. How could you say I would not love you? When all I did was to feel you around and sleep next to you. But I never expected you to write me poetry, or sing songs, or make promises of high dreams and higher hopes. All I ever wanted was you being with me – us together. For darling, I’ve always told you, ours is not a typical love story. Not of roses and butterflies. But of rough pavements’ walks and ordinary cotton candies. I’ve always started days with morning’s light coming through this window, gazing at the sky. But now I won’t do it anymore. For all I could see and get is the blue of my life…… But you’ll never love yourself as much as I do and never care for yourself as much as I do, for darling, I want to let you know; I am always there for you..Oh!
It has been a very long time since I’ve received a gift as extraordinary as you.
At what point does a man, who lived his entire life telling people he doesn't have a single regret, suddenly become aware of everything he wishes he had done differently?
It’s difficult to say. There isn't a defined time for such a thing. No one, when growing up, gets told that at a particular point in time you will come to regret certain decisions you made.
“Honey, Hydrogenated and androgynous milky white love is all I have to offer you. Would you like me to pour it in your coffee, or directly into your soul? ” As he ended, she smiled gently, putting the fine streak of her shiny hair back off her endearing face – the delicate gestures he’d always freeze in his memories and heart. Theirs was a different love story. A love story weaved so deeply in a train of emotions, in the tunes of those crispy new strings of his shiny guitar, in the fumes and aroma of those steaming cups of black coffee, in the night’s lullabies, in the morning’s fresh calls, in her carefree laughter, in his scared heart of losing her; it was but a poet’s poem, a writer’s prose and a painter’s master piece. So perfect, so content, so diverse yet so artistic.
The beautiful city, its luxurious lifestyle, hurried lives, those forsaken monuments, flowing water, the shiny sun, that cold breeze, the soothing orchestra, blooming tulips, rushing birds and all along, himself along with her presence, “Darling, you complete me. Just like this half completes the other one”, while travelling in the train, under the orange bed of clouds from that parting sunset and flowing water by the side, he mumbled gently while putting together the two parts of jigsaw puzzle and showing it to her like a little, happy kid.
He was a guy any girl could fall for easily. Handsome, rich, educated and a beautiful combination of charming personality, what did he see in my serious, brainy, sophisticated self, to grab me tightly in his love, get a hold of my fragile heart and be kind of owning power to my delicate soul – in the darkness of silent nights she would usually puzzle her self in these never ending questions. No, it was not insecurity. It was neither distrust nor a fishy mystery. But rather, she would always feel beaming and gratified when ever she would reach the answers and conclusions of these questions, the utter reality, “He belonged to her. She belonged to him. – The content.”
“One thing was certain: he was my one. Most people go on their whole lives and never find their one, but I found mine. I found him when I was only 18-years-old.” At the end of ever query, she would satisfy herself with this note, just like the way a mother satisfy her little kid with a pay back of a gift.
Their love grew the way they did. Running in the corridors of that old college. Bunking classes. Arguing over the fact; “Who’s genius among them?” Silently sneaking in each other’s books in the almost-dead library to see who has got the fastest reading skills. Fighting for a “Garam Samosa”. Intentionally not complimenting each other so as to be the cute-teaser. Laughter. Smiles. Tears. Gossips. Though he was a year older than her, but he always managed to be with her, match the shoe along and tie the belt together. They actually cherished their dream-come-true-love-life in those few years which were spent in the college’s diaries.
It’s a cold December’s night. I am done with my House Job’s final working day. I am so happy and relieved. The rain and storm is making it kind of scary for me but Mariah Carey’s “Love Takes Time” is echoing at the back, which sort of gives me the contention of feeling him around. Damn you stupid brain! He is sitting far there, miles away, across the seven seas, in New York’s classy Café. And here you’re sensing his presence in each touch and voice.
I sort of miss him. No! I sort of miss him too much. I talked to him in the morning, though. I do it religiously. I guess, I love him too much. But that’s not as much as he loves me. I fear these distances would distract him from me. I kind of feel this fear of losing him. OH, THE HEARTACHE…….
She instantly closed her diary for she couldn’t bear it more. Even the thought of losing him would give her chills down her spine. It would make her suffocate in her own rib cage. Beneath her own skin. In her own bone’s stature. In her very own existence. She hurriedly emptied a cold water bottle inside her soul, down through her gullet and calmed her anxious self.
“No. We can never be separated. NEVER. This never is a promise. It was made when he left for his FCPS-Part-1 studies, abroad. I am a doctor. He is a doctor. Ours is a love of arteries and veins. Of aorta and heart. Of bones and tissues. Of tendons and ligament. Of lungs and wind pipes. Of brain and nerves. Of stomach and pancreas. Of medicines and patient. Of stethoscope and overall. Of prescriptions and writing pads. Because, after all, HE BELONGS TO ME, I BELONG TO HIM.”
Ours is a love as classy as that of a French wine – “Oh beauté!”. But it is as fascinating as Italy’s gorgeous brands and expensive clothes. As romantic as Sweden’s seductive vibe. As cheerful as Brazil’s carnivals. As pure as Canada’s waterfalls. As melodious as England’s orchestra’s stricken streets.
She loved travelling. She would always compare her delicate love story to the countries and cities, that is how she breathed different shades in a single bonding.
“I remember when your name was just another name that rolled without thought off my tongue.
Now, I can’t look at your name without an abundance of sentiment attached to each letter.
Your name, which I played with so carelessly, so easily, has somehow become sacred to my lips.
A name I won’t throw around lightheartedly or repeat without deep thought.
And if ever I speak of you, I use the English language to describe who you were to me. You are nameless, because those letters grouped together in that familiar form….. carries too much meaning for my capricious heart.”
She murmured gently while having the last sip of this ever-so-soothing black coffee – a favorite for both of them, something which bonded them even tightly.
It is for him.
I find you;
In the green meadows,
In the autumn’s leaves’ crunch,
In the spring’s blooming colors.
I feel you;
In the rainy nights,
In the sunny mornings,
In the windy evenings.
I sing you;
In sweet lullabies,
In love songs,
In melodious tunes.
For my love;
I have eyes -
And I chose you.
I have soul -
And I bonded to you.
I have heart -
And I placed you in it.
- Yours, forever yours….
“Hahahaha. WOW. I am a poetess. I WROTE MY FIRST EVER COMPOSITION. Oh honey, your love made me a poetess now. Hahaha.”
She laughed happily.
She was the kind of cold, that wouldn’t be measured by the temperature. Her fragile heart being torn. Trust, shattered. Was I bitter? Absolutely. Hurt? You bet your sweet ass I was hurt. Who doesn’t feel a part of their heart break at rejection. You ask yourself every question you can think of, what, why, how come, and then your sadness turns to anger. That’s my favorite part. It drives me, feeds me, and makes one hell of a story. But it isn’t even about rejection. It is about the soul wrapping agony. Yes, the misery. She became a memory. One, that always pinched me. Pierced my heart. She became a story, I wouldn’t read. One, that stings the soul. She was hurt. Dejected. She felt the pain, way too much. Yes, she was kind. She was narrating, …how do you run and play when you feel like there are bricks of the heaviest sadness weighing down every part of your body? How do you laugh and talk when there are no laughs left inside of you? How do you say food brings you happiness, when you devour the luxurious feasts with heavy heart and tears? How do you fake smiles when your own body feels like all plastic and numb?
Yes, everything she was afraid of happening, happened. She lost a part of herself somewhere in the crowd. She lost a part of her sanity, somewhere in the disgusted minds. She lost a part of her smile somewhere in heart breaks. She lost a part of her unconditional love, somewhere in heartaches. She lost a part of her truthfulness, somewhere in the lies. She lost her sincerity somewhere in hypocrisy. She lost her real self. She lost, A LOT.
I never thought that ever I would write about my own, personal life here. But well after all, it is life and it makes you do weird things.
Yup, lately it has been worse, for the lack of better word I’d say that but it feels uglier, intense and way, way, way, bad than that. Yup, I am that selfless, kind, sweet person in your surroundings who is always there for every one, through every thick and thin. No matter whether you know me or not, if I get to know you’re not in a good phase and I could do anything for you, I freaking cross every boundary, do every effort, to make you feel better. But, it is always worse for me. Always. I feel gutted to the bone. It is not even curing. And nope, it is not just a phase, it has been since so long.
Own friends, good ones, acquaintances; everyone proves to be in the same boat. People come. They’ll use you for their own benefit. You’ll get attach and good with them. Then, when they’ll be done with you, they’ll f**king kick you out. They’ll treat you as useless as shit. Worthless, like a piece of crap, pretending “Who the f**k are you?”. Every single f**king person is so full of own self, so effing selfish, mean and ridiculous. I am not even new to this treatment but at times, silence cross the level of patience.
Nope darling, I am not weak or vulnerable. I would be the strongest person you’d ever come to know. Yep, I’ll love you unconditionally. But hey, I hate intensely than I love, ’cause I never hurt anyone and if I am treated like worthless shit, and that too repeatedly, it can get over my nerves. I am tough.
But yeah, even the strongest people have their limits. Right? Yes! The strongest, toughest, and all those who’re always consoling others can even break at some stages. Yes! Even they can be so stressed that they’ll reveal it. I am so adept in faking my emotions, in hiding the pain I go through, just to make others feel better that I assume, soon I will forget how it feels like to be happy and all. I f**king hate every one, everything!
Nope, it is not going to be ok soon. Don’t ask me to hang in there. It is a repetitive cycle.
In this dark night, with “Kiya hova agar, zindagi zara ulajh si gae” echoing in the headphones, staring at the ceiling I am trying to contemplate my life. It is so funny, I don’t know whether to cry or laugh at it. It feels so f**king bad. Worse. Nerve breaking. More than that. Too many upsetting events in a row. Worst time, worst feelings ever! Not even a single hand to hold, a single shoulder to rely upon, a single soul to feel connected to, a single person’s attention to narrate the heartaches. You see? That’s how it happens to the best of people. Yep, the ugliest and worst happens to them. You know the feelings when you feel so bad, so much that your lips can not even accompany you to explain how much of the pain you’re tolerating and the ugly moments you’re going through? Yes, THAT. Nope, I don’t need those fake, hypocritical sympathies and concern. Please keep them safe in your cupboards.
Too many tears, not even a single shoulder.
Too many heartaches, so little strength.
Too many ugly experiences, so much of selflessness.
But well, its ok, Hira. Don’t worry. It’ll get better. Cheer up!