things i don't tell you

...that i love watching you sleep
your cynic all defenseless
your mask no longer in place;
that i often hide and watch
when you wait, impatiently for me
worry written across your face;
that my heart skips countless beats
when you look down at me
and with your eyes, laugh;
that your touch makes me grin
makes my heart do a dance
and i'm alive again.
these are things i won't tell you
because you already know too much
you already see too much
and i'd be a fool to admit
that i have no control over
this silly thing called my heart
since you have called me by name.

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admitting

and sometimes all she wants
is the murmur of your heart
against her ear
telling her she's wilful
telling her she she's mad,
telling her she's wrong
but she's everything you want.

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familiar

There's something so familiar about you..
Like the crows cackling on my backyard fence
Or the busy bees that drone
Like the scent of lemon in the breeze
Or the leaves quibbling, at every chance.

I know this feeling you make me feel
It's something that's lived with me
It's a song i have sung before
Without quite getting the lines..

On summer's eves when time was mine
When everything was drowsily divine
I have lived your stories
Through days and years and lives.

Before i knew of doubt and hurt
I have heard your smiles
I have lived on dreams of you
Even before you were mine.

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feeling right

Why do we build walls? Drive people away? Just let things slide? There comes a point in life where you know you don't need anyone any longer. You've become so jaded, the only person you trust is you. Even those closest to you form just the outer circle. It's safe right, being by your own! Kind of liberating. There's this weird headiness cynicism brings along. I've inherited it, bit by bit, from parents who wanted me to be independent, from friends who left. Abandonment issues, but all that changed after i learnt to shut people out. And that's precisely when everyone said i've changed. Arrogance, more often than not, is a mask. And sometimes, you just don't want to take the mask off.

So, i've been there, tried that. It works. It's awesome. Could've made it a way of life. But not when i know i deserve more. Hell yes! (Swearing used to be on my taboo list. Mean to post that ridiculous list some day. God, i used to be such a prude!) I've been cheating myself of a lot. I know it's tough, reaching out. But i want to. There's so much i've lost, along the way. I want all of it back. Maybe i don't feel as much as i used to. But i want to. I want to count my blessings again.

I've been thinking, would a child be better off being streetsmart, or retaining that innocence, that blind faith in all things good?

P.S. I know, i probably swallowed a whole volume of Anderson's fairytales as a kid!

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on the shore

Lover of dark nights, unexplored woods, and restless seas. And like the last of those, her heart was fickle too. Happiness made her cry, so did love. And yet, sometimes, it would all just breeze by, and she would feel nothing.

His stories make her smile, for she's heard them before. She's heard herself repeat the lines in her head. He is her, turned inside out. So much should be boring, she tells herself, but what she doesn't know is that the moon has always made the sea restless. And yet, there is something comforting about the way it draws the waves to it, unceasingly.

There are moments she feels empty, even with all the love around her. And then, as she lies awake on a moonless night, her sleep stolen from her, it strikes her with blinding clarity. It's rather ironic, the answer she's been seeking.

She's built a fort of stone. Of bravado. And it's kept her safe. Except, there are cracks in it now. Cracks that let in slivers of light.

He will not fight her battles for her. He knows she can do it.

It's funny how letting light in works. Whole patches of it. And then, there are no canopies, no stone walls she hides behind. Love hits her in the face, and makes her dizzy. And fear slinks away, leaving her unchained.

She loves nights, moonlit nights by the shore...

fogged windows

there was an age when
i would have closed my eyes
and trusted you, when you said,
to the moon and back.
when the smell of grass
and borrowed books, and
fresh paint and dreams
brought my songs alive.

i've traded sunburnt smiles
for unspoken words
and now, there are cold
October nights
without nightingales.

i, with my forest trails
and dark misty woods
now find in half moon smiles
and unshed tears,
broken poetry.
there's no trace of me
i've stopped waiting,
waiting for yesterdays.

and just when i'm sure
i want this day and no more,
you give me moments..

moments
with lilies outside fogged windows,
the warm glow of old love
you dance me around the room
your eyes talking of spring

there's the sound of water over pebbles
there are tree trunks by the shore
and as my feet sink in
miles of glorious black sand
there is laughter, all mine.

and in your eyes again
i know pain and quiet loss
and whispers, and dark moods
and there's this tightness in my chest
as you hold me close to yours
i'm learning to cry again.

Fates

You know what depression does to you? It sucks laughter out of your soul. It hurts and you can do nothing about the pain. It's like a gaping hole in your head. Where thoughts are incoherent, and your feelings all muddled up. All your thoughts spell death, and still you stand there unable to do anything about it. It's like being buried alive, terror mingling with darkness. And then once you escape it, all you know is numbness. You've seen it all, you say.

Well, ironically, it isn't the worst of fates.

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Astray

Your thoughts, they jump,
from branch to branch
Like wayward monkeys
And i am left grumbling,
Weary and stumbling
As i run after them.

I try to entice them
Bring them my way
But they escape me
Tease me all day
I have half a mind
To throw a tantrum
Until i realize
You're grinning at me
And then i jump up
And follow them thoughts
For i need to get to them
Before you do to me.

It's part of the game, i learn
And i keep my eyes open lest
You steal my dreams,
From my open eyes
And yet, I don't put up
much of a fight
It's like i want
to be led astray.

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Like beads of joy, strung on sunbeams
Her laughter, made of elusive dreams
And he in love with her,
Her laughter and her sunshine.

Till shaken, she falls to the ground
Broken, like a tree, a petal ground
All her smiles sold to the shadows
And her heart, pitiful and unbound.

He looks into her eyes and senses
The sea change in her soul
She does not see his smile
For grief has numbed her heart

She is not the girl he knew
She has eyes that speak of pain
He knows he loves this girl
Her eyes no longer bow to the sky.

mermaidish

i get all sentimental,
whimsy like the fool i am
i wait for hours on end
to hear your voice
my thoughts, they worship you
follow you, like shadows
and still i stand,unable
to tell you who i am
and will you to read my eyes
my voice, it's no longer mine.

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silly, isn't it
that you, the skeptic
and me, the cynic
should create cliches together?

on second thought,
i love cliches.

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you and me
in the middle of nowhere
and silence like this.

unerringly

you return to me, unerringly
like the wave to the sea
and i am left with answers
to questions i couldn't ask.

have i been here before
where the sky meets the earth?
have your dreams been mine
and those lemon-scented nights?

yes, i foolishly seek the end
to a journey that's just begun
my eyes they strain for bends
while i overlook beginnings.

darkness falls, and i look around
and find you by my side
my unlived days have passed, i
have found the nights i live.

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Fallen Stars

What if i tell you
That the stars that have fallen
At your feet
Were my fears once?
Each a part of me
That lay awake as darkness
Screamed its way through
Corners of my mind.
And then you vanquished them
And set them free
And let them be.
And my night sky
Glowed with stars again
And i knew what i had to do
I gave you all the stars.
For all i have ever loved
Is darkness and sorrow bare
And now you steal my pain
And i see that
I have belonged to joy
Even before laughter
Sweetly kissed my eyes.

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Days like this
When i am undecided
Not knowing who i am
Where i come from,
Or where i begin.

Not knowing the questions
Or what i want to say
Days like this
When i am undefined.

I need your eyes to see
What's undecided in me
Days like this.

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I've been looking for reasons. Coincidences are a lot easier to explain. But, i can find no reasons, and there's only so much i can explain.

How do i explain this emotion? It's like sitting under that huge elm, under its shade, while i fill up the pages of my diary. There's a light breeze that takes me back to the days i'd swing on trees and throw stones in the pond. And then i look up and find that while i've been busy writing, the sky's turned grey. There are thunderclouds, and my heart starts to race. It's exhilarating and terrifying. I want to run across the fields, chase the rain as it lashes down. And there's this part of me that stands there, wishing the clouds would stay forever.

These are the words that i cannot speak.


Bring me broken chords, my love
For i dance in the shadows.

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Beyond that Door

A lot of times you live by your own set of rules and ultimately make judgements about what's right and what's wrong. Until the wall you've built up, of all the things that are right, comes crumbling down. Until there's no right and no wrong.

A lot of it is what you believe. You've stopped yourself from doing a lot many things because you feel it's wrong. And that fear cripples you, slowly steals your joy until you feel no more.

Till one day when you rise from your slumber to a knock on your door. It takes courage to go out without your defenses. It takes courage to do something you've never done before without constantly waiting for lightning to strike you dead. And it takes courage to believe, the way you believed in magic when you were a child.

You think you don't have it in you, but somewhere outside that door is the world you created. The one where what you believe is what you get.

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no regrets

insubstantial grief
or depression bare
that clutches at my heart
never quite letting go.
like loneliness and
pain, and winter rain.


and for every morbid fantasy
i've sold my soul to,
i find that it's happiness
i've always been afraid of.

you're like those stories
i've saved deep inside of me,
unsullied and bare
like the sky washed clean.

i've let grief cut into me,
because happiness felt lethal
i've learnt to feel less
with every wound that's healed.

and now you bring me joy,
paint my skies with silliness
and laughter, and surprise
and songs i've forgotten

and i learn why regret
has never been a choice
why happiness has always
waited for the last dance.

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this

This unsteady dance
And spaces we create
And quickly erase.

It's like my soul
Has discovered spring
In hues of riotous glory.

There is madness
Slow and sure, seeping
Through my veins.

And just like that
There's more of me,
When you say you believe.

It is only this moment
And every moment after
And you,my destiny.

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Stolen Flowers

He was meeting her after four years. He still remembered her as the wide-eyed girl with mischief in her eyes and marbles in her pockets. She was the rebel, while he had always been the conformist in the family. As he waited for her outside the airport, he wondered if she was still the same old devil he'd once admired.

She waved at him as she stepped out into the sun. She looked worn out, defeated by life. What had he missed? Had their years apart created a gulf between them? His kids had grown up listening to the adventures he had had with her. It
all seemed like a dream now. He wanted to hug her, undo all the hurt he read in her eyes.

As children, they'd been the most notorious pair in town. He was a year younger than her, and often scared to go along with her schemes. But she always got her way. Their innumerable acts of
mischief had landed them in trouble with the parents, the neighbors and generally, the
townspeople. They'd done everything from painting the water tank red, to chasing squirrels up trees to scaring people at night. He laughed
aloud as he remembered the time they'd been chased out of Mrs. Sanders' garden for stealing
her dahlias.

The dahlias. That had been the summer they moved to this town. He looked at his sister, who seemed lost in her own thoughts, and wondered if that was when it had all changed. She had been
fifteen then. That had been the summer dad had left them. They had moved in with grandpa and
grandma and mom had gotten busy with the new job. They went to different schools after that
summer, and gradually grew apart. He had been busy figuring out the art of growing up, and trying
to fit in, while she had taken up a job at the local convenience store. The growing up years had been tough on him but he had eventually blended in. She was different. She stuck out like a sore
thumb wherever she went. Simply because she was different. She had alienated herself from the
family and started hanging around with her own group. And then they'd both gone off to college.
The last time he met her, she was getting married.

He'd been surprised at her choice of groom but she seemed happy with her choice.

She didn't look so happy now. He wanted to pull her close and tell her that he cared. But he'd never been able to do it then, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do it now. They'd never been much for public display of affection; it was a
family trait.

"The kids are pretty excited about your visit."

She smiled and mockingly asked, "I wonder why!"

She wasn't smiling when the kids jumped all over her a while later. She took her brother aside and
asked, "What have you told them, you idiot?! Sharon's only three, but she's been following me around as if she expects me to change costume and take to the skies!"

To her chagrin, he just grinned and told the kids that their aunt would tell them about her adventures after dinner. He knew that all this affection was suffocating her, but she needed this. She tried her best to keep
the children away, but they refused to leave her side.

"You used to love children!"

"Used to, brother. I used to be a kid too. I've grown up."

"Naah. You forgot to grow up. You just turned into a sullen teenager, and you've been that ever since."
She threw him a dirty look, and went into the kitchen. He wondered if he could get her back to her old self ever.

He knew what he had to do. She was reluctant at first, but an evening walk meant some time away from the overexcited children, and she agreed.

They walked along, without much to say. She broke the silence.

"Why this town? Of all the places, you chose this hellhole to settle down?!"

"What is it with this place and you? Because of all the bitter memories? You were fifteen when we moved here. It was a lifetime ago!"

"A lifetime ago for you, maybe. This town stole my innocence. It broke my spirit, Danny."

He was quiet. Then he turned around and smiled at her. "Remember Mrs. Sanders?"

"Oh! She was the devil! Remember how she screamed at mom the day we moved here?"

"Yes. Do you remember what we did to get back at her?"

She was grinning now. "How can I ever forget it, Danny? We stole her garden. Her whole goddamn
garden!"

"A garden full of dahlias. She
chased us all the way across the town!"

She was laughing now. "Yes, yes, I remember. We were so crazy!"

"I was the crazy one. I was scared of the consequences. You weren't. We hid the cart in the woods and then you made me push it all the way to this secret haunt you'd found!"


She sat down on a tree trunk and refused to meet his eyes. "I was a crazy fool, Danny. I believed I could make things work no matter what. I believed that I had the power to alter my life. I was an idiot."

"You believed you could make mother happy. You told me we didn't need Dad in our life. And it
took me a while, but I realized you were right. I've lived by your crazy ideals, Sis."

"You're a fool then. I gave up ages ago."

"Did you?"

"Yes. It doesn't work, Danny. Everything I did, it was to make myself believe that I could survive. My ideals, like my crazy schemes, crashed and burned."

"The dahlias, that was your last act of defiance. Everything you did after that, all the surliness, was just a facade."

He took her hand and led her into the woods. She was surprised and tried to stop him, but he just
increased his pace.

And even as she opened her mouth to chastise him, words failed her. He had brought her to her secret haunt. The place they had discovered the evening they shifted to the new town. The place
where they had hidden when Mrs. Sanders had chased them. The place where they'd dumped her
gardenful of dahlias.

She didn't know what to say, because her little brother had stolen all her words. And all the nasty voices in her head that told her that she was wrong. She was fifteen again. Fifteen and full of
hope. And she'd been right about every crazy dream she had.

For in the middle of the woods, where sunlight streamed in through the leaves, was a secret
garden. Full of stolen flowers.

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Uninterpreted

And maybe I will wait
forever, for a question
you'll never deign to ask.

Is it me, or is it you
I don't know what's different
But i can feel it in the raindrops
And it's slowly drowning my fears.

I have known madness, I have screamed
In alleys that smell of desperation
And I have known certainty
And often, succumbed to its call.

There are no drumrolls, and all I can hear
Is the sound of forgotten dreams
There's so much I've lost along the way
So much to rereturn to.

For all that I have thrown away
You give me so much more
I cannot stay wedded to fear
Now that I've crossed the door.

Far Too Deep

It's like this, you go looking for something and end up finding something else. I've learnt to stop being blind, I've learnt to question my faith, I've learnt to argue and fight. I've learnt a whole lot of things. I've also learnt to wait.

They say you grow up, and become the person you were supposed to be. I never wanted to grow up, and I wasn't sure I liked the person I've become. I used to be foolish, silly, highly uncynical and just happy with my life. Now that I've passed through the bylanes of cynicism, I find myself lost. I no longer trust people because I read the smile in their eyes. And even as I find myself lost, I know I'm enjoying this journey. I've learnt I cannot stay here forever. This isn't home. I have too much of happiness in me to stay a cynic.

Becoming a cynic was easy. Returning to innocence is proving hard enough. And somehow, I mean to enjoy the journey, every bit of it. I'm the prodigal daughter, and happiness just keeps calling, keeps waiting for me to return.

Hafiz again:

"There are different wells within your heart.
Some fill with each good rain,
Others are far too deep for that.

In one well
You have just a few precious cups of water,
That "love" is literally something of yourself,
It can grow as slow as a diamond
If it is lost.

Your love
Should never be offered to the mouth of a
Stranger,
Only to someone
Who has the valor and daring
To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife
Then weave them into a blanket
To protect you.

There are different wells within us.
Some fill with each good rain,
Others are far, far too deep
For that."

Of Bucket Lists

So, when i was a kid, i'd save the best story, the tastiest sweet for last. This was mainly because i wanted the good stuff to last. Well, it didn't always work. I'd end up losing the book before i read the story, and my sis would gobble up my share of sweet. And i'd end up one disappointed gal. And yet, i never learnt from my mistakes. I'd keep repeating it. I did it because i was always very unsure of good things lasting forever. So i found ways to postpone it, foolishly thinking that this would make it last.

So, why am i saying all this now?


Because I keep putting off a lot of stuff. Like living, for instance. In Barney's words, i'm a Ted. I just think, think, think and never do, do, do. I've put off so much stuff because the time wasn't right.

I'm just lazy, but i figured i have to start somewhere. So i made my bucket list. Crazy, i know. But I've been asked about the crazy things i've always wanted to do. So, i figured i'd start with a tame bucket list. Of all the things i've put off all my life. It's not complete, and i doubt if i'm gonna cross out most of this stuff. But here goes:

Board a train to some random place without an itinerary

Salsa/Jive

Learn swimming(okay seriously, i don't know why this is still on my list)

Visit/Stay in a Buddhist monastery(Tibet!)

Walk in a valley

A movie, from a script i've written(sigh)

Write a book

Visit Europe(Castles, meadows.. *swoon*)

My dream home

Live in a log cabin in the middle of a forest(this!)

Learn French/German



And the list continues......

Maybe i should add cooking to the list. Maybe. :D

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Waking Up

Starbursts of joy
Ringlets of smoke
Long winding paths
Vineyards in bloom
Hummingbirds abuzz
Leaves of damp grass
Smooth, round pebbles
A dream deciphered
Wet earth, a whiff
Roasted coffee beans
A song i wordlessly sing
Random playful memories
A hint of a smile
Words, in myriad hues
My swing in the air
The rain outside my window
And the book i live by...

Waking up to life. :)

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Paradox

I write about the mist o'er dark moors,
About starless nights, listless shores,
Being out of love, and half-closed doors
How silence sometimes owns my hours.

And yet my dreams they dance at night,
While i sleep, they scream themselves hoarse.

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It's tough being a cynic. And here i thought it was a piece of cake. I mean, you just have to NOT believe in a lot of stuff. Sounds easy, right?

Hell, not with all the curveballs life throws your way.

Wow, i'm swearing now.

Barneyism, totally unrelated but awesome:

Marshall Eriksen: You're telling me that when you watch "The Karate Kid", you don't root for Daniel-san?
Ted Mosby: Who do you root for in "Die Hard"?
Barney Stinson: Hans Gruber. Charming international bandit. In the end, he dies hard. He's the title character.
Lily Aldrin: What about "The Breakfast Club"?
Barney Stinson: The teacher running detention. He's the only guy in the whole movie wearing a suit.
Robin Scherbatsky: I've got one. "The Terminator".
Barney Stinson: What's the name of the movie, Robin? Who among us did not shed a tear when his little red eye went out in the end, and he didn't get to kill all those people?[ Breaks down] I'm sorry. I just get so emotional
Ted Mosby: I am never watching a movie with you again.
Barney Stinson: They didn't even try to help him!

:-D

The guy's awesome. Plus, i too root for negative characters lot of times. Sis thinks i'm a closet psychopath.

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Some here, and some there
And i've lost all my words
Someone's stolen all my words
Left me silence sharp as swords.

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The Boat Trip Home

On our way back from mom's place. I love boatrides. :-)

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The Bridge of Memories

A bridge with my name on it. :)

It's there somewhere, on the bottom right. One among the countless sweet memories Grandpa gifted me!

It's in Malayalam. :D

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I have..

Reader's Block.

No, seriously. I've been a bookworm the last 21 years, and I've never had such a dry spell before. I absolutely cannot survive without reading a book a week. At the most, a month. Right now, I have some six books i haven't read yet. I have the time, it's just that i can't bring myself to. It's crazy! I started reading Oscar and Lucinda ages ago, stopped at chapter 12 or so, then started with Good Omens only to realize that Pratchett and Gaiman's combined humour really does go over my head. Then I started with Millennium Three: The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest. Thought a thriller would break the jinx. But no. I think I need to do some light reading, find some frilly, romantic book to get back now.

This really sucks.

shooting raindrops at the sun

This shield of vapour,
That refuses to unfog
Not unlike this petty heart
That just will not unclog.

Placid at times, and painless
It almost fools me, does
When the kindly cloak, happiness
Turns shadowy echoes to rust.

If madness is what it will be
I pray, spare me the fate
Sanity weighs down heavier
And that's all i can take.

And then on days like this,
With raindrops kissing the skylight
All i can do is raise my eyes
And drink in the sight.

And just like that i know
It can be more ways than one
There's someone i see outside
Shooting raindrops at the sun.

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Quiet Desperation

I agree with Woody Allen. Life would've been a lot more fun in reverse. I mean, who wants to start with innocence and die a cynic. Well, not all of us ...but I sure seem to be doing it. I'm fighting it all the way, and trying to hide the despair I feel. My friend refuses to believe me when I tell her that I'm becoming a cynic. She laughs at me, says it's impossible. Well. Whatever.

Y'day, while talking to a teamie with whom I have a lot in common(surprising, because I admire her a lot) I learnt that she thought of herself as a failed idealist. I nodded my head, told her I understood because I am one too. I was a passionate person once upon a time. I was the person Wordsworth described in Tintern Abbey. I have always loved the woods, I've wanted to build myself a log-cabin somewhere deep in the woods, and just stay there, away from the crowd. The deep,dark woods evoke something primitive in me, and even today, as I sit in an apartment I know that is where I really want to be.

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand, a hand of wires.

Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.

The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me
Cruelly, being barren.
Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.

I let her go. I let her go
Diminished and flat, as after radical surgery.
How your bad dreams possess and endow me.

I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
(Sylvia Plath. Her poems, though depressing, are mighty cool.)

Watch how she laughs
Like she owns the wind
And the stars that hide their face
In the brilliance of the sun.

She laughs
Even when dark takes over
Rips away, her cloak of fervour.

She waits for the moon
To lure the waves
Stands soulless, over the cliffs.

And when you look away
She drops her mask
And she silently, falls.

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Dear Shrek/Grinch, and Violet Eyes,

THANK YOU for the most beautiful bouquet i've ever seen in my life!

A very happy b'day girl

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Me?

So, i was having this weird conversation with a teammate the other day.

Of late, i've noticed that i totally enjoy crude humour and guffaw at silly pointless PJs, with the guys. Also the fact that whenever one of the guys read something interesting/lame, they just know that i'll enjoy it too.

See, the thing is, i'm a girly girl. Sappy commercials make me cry, my best friends are all girls and i hardly have any close guy friends. Just one or two i'm very close to. I'm not one of those girls who feels comfortable hanging around with guys. And yet, i find that i'm a buddy to MOST of my guy friends. In that i've played agony aunt, relationship advisor(huh!), mediator of sorts.

So, i was telling my teammate how i've totally changed from being a prude, in that i can stomach lame guy-like jokes now. Smugly, i tell him that it's a good thing. To which he responds, NO. His NO is more vehement than that of my other cubemates. Girls, obviously!

Drat.

And i thought i was broadening my horizons. People like the lamer version better.

Can't help it though. It's not like i wanted to change. I'm just going with it, and enjoying every moment.

:)

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Lying in Halves

'You will not leave?'

'No, i won't.'

'Not even if i close my eyes, or stop calling your name?'

'Not even if you forget me'

His gaze held hers, steady, unflickering unlike the candle that lit the room.

She looked out, and saw that it was still dark. It had been so for days, weeks, months while she had stayed inside with him. The room seemed lifeless. Her eyes bloodshot, she looked at him, wanting to be reassured again.

'Not even if i lie,or stop talking to you?'

He smiled, and nodded his head. He looked pale, paler than ever. She could read the sadness in his eyes. And she smiled as the shadows danced on the wall. She sang softly, of all the dreams she'd kept from him for she knew this was it. He listened and held her close as darkness shrouded them.

She couldn't open her eyes; it hurt, it hurt real bad. When she did, she found herself alone. She fumbled in the dark and instinctively knew.Despite all his promises, he had gone away. She had kept sleep at bay all these nights,because she knew he was a liar. She could make out the candlestub, and the unmade bed. Books all over the floor. His books.

She didn't feel quite steady on her feet; it had been days since she'd even walked across the room. But with every step she took, she felt a little stronger. She could breathe now, and even as the memories swam in front of her eyes, she walked.

She was awake now. For the first time in days. She didn't want the darkness any longer. She drew back the curtains, and suddenly light flooded her room. Her world had been black for so long, she flinched as light filled her being. She could've sworn it was still midnight. But strangely, her world was awash with light. She held her hand against the light, to shield her eyes and found that the mark around her ring finger had all but faded away.

She couldn't hold it in any longer. Tears blurred her vision as she softly murmured 'Liar'.

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The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock- A Poem

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

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I seriously have to stop falling in love with characters!

Disgustingly hilarious, ridiculously insane ones! :D

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Somedays the memories are so vivid, it's like you never went away.

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Aren't we limited by what we think is right, or wrong? No, not what WE think, but by what we are TAUGHT to think!

Just because society says its wrong, does it necessarily become so? Does collective consciousness make it so? That, by the way, is an idea that has me intrigued, of late.

In an age where we conform to others' preconceived notions of what is right, or 'cool', this idea really holds true.

So, why do i like something? Because it feels right. To me. That should be enough. Why isn't it so, then?

I am not a rebel, though i get this sneaky feeling at times, that i was meant to be one. Getting all sorted out is taking time, but i'm enjoying the mixed-up journey. Till i come undone.

P.S. Movies are an education, i tell you! :D

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