love loves to hate

'cause it's on the other side.

only half present, anyway

There is a certain fear before putting on a cloak of invisibility. You wonder if you'll be forgotten. Is the peace worth being lost? More importantly, is being forgotten worth the deafening chaos of inner quiet?

The world outside will always speak but lost things are forgotten. Some might wonder but everyone moves on.

Remember, when you take it off, you'll still be in the same place. Your existence just won't have the same place anymore.

Incoherent thoughts aid visibility.

from preadulthood to infancy

I do remember falling in love at 14 with a dark-eyed pretty girl. I remember smiling to myself, full of plans to propose to her when I'd get older, thinking about how I'd talk her out of the idea, or desire, of having 12 children. I blame Karan Johar.

But immeasurable distance and arguments over nonsensical Bollywood films had taken their toll; she faded into incapacity. This is the only other time I can recall as being anywhere near the idea of romance in my life.

I remember gloating around my friends, vaunting how I was above their petty love-affairs and wrist-cuttings, which, at best, lasted for a year. I was content single, comfortable in the indisputable logic that 'single' was not synonymous with 'alone'.

Romantic inexperience stretched on for four more years and then bam, you told me you were an interest(ed/ing, both apply) romantic.

(Unmentionable conversations in the negative space).

I have a love song blasting in my ears and each lyric is registering. This is why I resent you: for this introduction to romantic meanings.

I resent you for taking me by a reassuring, warm hand into this goddamned territory (literally God damned!), pronouncing me unqualified for I was too much of a newborn (snort, really) and deserting me unfed.

I refuse to re-birth. I am too weak to be pushed out. I will not wail; I choose to remain blue for a while more.

Eventually, everyone must (re)surface.

Remember, resentment is never synonymous with hatred.

Words not said to your face have much more life, unmet by refusal and rejection.

God damn disbelief (place your commas as per preference).

why I have come back

I very recently wrote out a public invitation in a forum on Facebook, pleading people to come out and talk to me about things depressing them. Even then, as I was writing it, I realized that it did sound stupid, an idea laughable. I felt that- despite my intentions being well-meaning and sincere- mostly because I myself wouldn't have done it either had someone else written out that invitation.

Now even though I feel like deleting the invitation from there, I will not do so because I do not want to take it back and it gives me a feeling of slight satisfaction knowing that I have done something, however much it may be embarrassingly within my comfort capacity.

Is this why people blog? To let it out? I suppose the reason differs from person to person. Why am I doing it despite the fact that there is no audience whatsoever? Because sometimes, there is no one to talk to. It doesn't really mean I'm very lonely; it just means the right person isn't around at the moment. Or it may be the fact that the right person to whom this kind of talk can be addressed to or confided in isn't an existent figure. Yet. :)

So, here's to hoping that the right people come in our lives and fill spaces, which, for people like me, are taken by unread blogs at the moment. How sad? No. How ordinary.