My Nia, I don’t call you this for nothing. You dazzle my world! You are the silver line of my cloud, and that’s all you need to know. Cheers to your first equinox. To you & I. I hope you grow up to be fiercer, sharper, and more unforgiving than your mum ever was. You’ll need it. Thank me later!
I was born with you, the same morning,
The one in which I realized I would rip myself open for you!
The moment you were placed on me, I knew, I have my albatross!
And at the risk of sounding cliché,
I miss my time with me, my body, I miss being able to sip my poison too!
But I don’t miss the person I was before you!
You feel like my heart was cut out of my chest and placed on me!
The sleepless nights with you feel right, You feel right!
If you’re deluded that it was love that kept you going, no it wasn’t!
Let me enlighten you! Contrary to popular belief, I have always understood love as just another emotion, in-fact in my head rage is stronger than love. People push their limits harder in rage than in love, don’t trust me? Go back into your life and reiterate.
Love is given so much weightage because it carries many more essential, far-significant, and nerve-wracking chemical reactions in your head. And that’s that. It acts as an escape, a reason to vent, a permanent shoulder to cry on, self-consuming and nasty make outs, opening up without the fear of being judged, and a long list of other perks. So honestly, no love keeps you going, it’s the transactional benefits that keep you going.
A part of me was glad, I haven’t had a transactional, self-benefiting experience. However, I’ve had a loud and clear – Oh God, I want you! – kind of experience. And I wouldn’t trade that for something as small as love.
Personally, if I’m in a narrative, it would open with,
“If you still have a space permanently in my head, it’s not because there was love. It is because your actions enraged me and so did mine. Because I touched the dragon and made love with its spitting fire while it burned my nights and days for senseless hours, till our bodies turned into a fragrant carcass. I fought, screamed, and scratched the mental peace out of you, and so did you. I had found content metaphorically, literally, and rhetorically.”
So, honestly quit it, you can’t convince me and neither can I. Not on love is bigger than want for you and want is bigger than love for me. We do more things out of want than we do out of love. A raging desperate want, in my head is a purer emotion, far stronger than love.
You live through sunsets and I through sunrises. We are different, in ways hard to comprehend. So, for us to co-exist in one moment, together, even for a few seconds, it would take the sun, the moon, the stars, and the universe itself to align. Or maybe, just take a tans-Atlantic flight, the dawn and dusk co-exist beautifully (I say it with personal experience), and a for a few minutes you’ll know what I mean.
If you don’t make me angry, you don’t matter. Easy!
See… I’ll tell you the difference You are a straight white line You’re a single snort away from poofing. While I run in the circles made of infinity I’m a never ending rarity No number of pots will ever be enough To build what’s broken. I took the morphine with me When I left from that door, Your ‘4:20 Somewhere’ rots in my closet
It’s been years today to the first time we bro hugged, First time since we sat across tables freezing and bugged, First time since I noticed the color of your eyes, First time since I stole a sigh, First time since you switched places on the road, First time since we shared the dense smoke, First time since our jittery first nudge, First time since the Italian was a waste buck, First time since I decided on my cure, First time since all firsts pure, Here we are, today, in many of our firsts, Like the gold flames, at a pinnacle!
The closure I think comes to you in a million ways, Sometimes in ways of the world falling apart And sometimes with a chance to put it all back together, There will be baggage, of-course, But then you’ve aced the art of solo travel darling, Remind yourself of all the fiercer bulls you have leashed & shoo this little pup away, Remember,
You’re not the La La Land, You’re the Oscar for it!
We have run from clubs to beaches and back, Drinking poisons from bottles, Jumping into seasons of deep seas in our clothes, And making out on the rocks through thunders, Made promises over wildfires high fiving thunders, To never make sense, To hope the odds are in our favor, And I fell in the supernova of the moment, Oh the blast, And the following curl of smoky whirlwind will last forever!
There are lives I have lived, There are lives I haven’t. There are hopes I have abandoned, There are dreams I have forgotten, I’m no superhuman, Nor do I intend to be, Like a humming bird I fly back and forth, I relive hopes and dreams, They fear no death, For none shall have one, Like grandma’s abode, We meet each burning fall, With a promise!
When you are in a memoir territory, emotions become dominant at large. So much so, that once while reviewing a memoir, a New York Times Editor, (also a reviewer, a playwright, a critic, etc.) Neil Genzlinger, looked at the audience and started by saying, “A moment of silence, please, for the lost art of shutting up.”