September 2015



There comes a time when you’re drenched in his thoughts. Your mind wanders to him. When the night settles in, your hand reaches out for that invisible arm to hold on to, your heart reaches out for the memory of his presence. You’re aware of his absence but still feel his breath on your bare neck. You sleep alone and still feel his eyes on you. You incessantly feel the urge to plunge into those eyes and never come back. When you feel tears coming down your face your heart longs for his hands to wipe them off. Is this what falling in love feels like? Or is it just falling?


The picture.


I’ve made my peace with the fact that every soul that walks on this earth is going to disappoint you somehow. People here come and go as they please. They never stay. People here suck the life out of you and leave. When their motive is fulfilled they don’t look back to see how exanimate they have left us. They are like these parasites who live vicariously through us. You will stumble and fall, and people are going to pick you up just to knock you down again. This world doesn’t care for love, it cares for how long will you survive without cracking and falling apart. This world where once roses bloomed in the hearts of every human being, now is filled with people prompted by malign motives. But, I’ve made my peace with the fact that people are here to break you to pieces, leave you like a jigsaw puzzle. You have to pick up all of your pieces. What matters here the most is how you choose to complete the picture.


Why do people think there is beauty in being broken? There are so many people out there trying to romanticize the notion of being broken and being empty. There is nothing beautiful about screaming in your pillows at 3 am so that no one can hear you. No beauty in feeling a big hollow cavity in your chest no matter where you go, or what you do. There’s nothing more painful than reaching out for someone who isn’t there. There is no beauty in watching the love you built go down brick by brick. Pain is not beautiful or miraculous. Pain is pain. Just like a broken window is nothing but a fragmented piece of glass, a broken heart is nothing but a fragmented piece of promises and wishes. Beauty is not in waiting for someone to come along and heal you, because there is no one thats going to heal you. There is no beauty in laying down all your pieces and giving the person the power to arrange it in any manner they want. People don’t realize how brutal it is, to come to terms with the fact that you’re no longer required in someone’s life. Your purpose in their life is fulfilled. You are no longer the Sun, you’re just a meteor now which lacks importance. There is no beauty in realizing that the one person is now the one person for someone else. Pain is not beautiful. Pain is just plain pain.


After all these lonely nights, this darkness speaks to me. It speaks to me of love. It speaks of loyalty and infidelity. It speaks to me of my past and my future. It speaks of pain and joy. It speaks of heartaches. It speaks of lost friendships. It speaks of finding your way. It warns me about storms to come. It protects me from the harsh truth that rises with the sun. It makes it easier for the demons that reside in my head. This darkness comes dressed in broken promises and betrayal. This darkness looks familiar, it reminds me of the unsaid words in my heart. Does this darkness have a name? Is it your name?

2 a.m.

When you look out from your window at 2 a.m, you see darkness. In that darkness, you see some rooms, some houses still lit up with light, just like yours. It makes you think that you’re not the only one up at that hour. There are hundreds like you. Some awake in pain, some in despair, some in happiness and some in plain loneliness. Some waiting for the sun to rise and bring them some clarity, some wishing the night never ends, for with the rays of Sun comes the reality. Some staring at the sky, asking for some answers and some just admiring the darkness of it. Some wanting to escape the darkness the night brings, some embracing it with open arms. Some lying awake, thinking of the future, some throwing some light at their pasts. Some rolling over to the ones they love and some discovering empty beds. Some excited for the morning to come, some never wanting the night to end. When you look out from your window at 2 am you find yourself wondering, how many people are out there just like you? Awake, alone, in need. The tiny flickering lights assure you that you’re not the only one isolated and undone in this world. There are many. Hundreds. Even thousands of them, just waiting for the night to end and some, always waiting for it to begin.

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