Red flowers outside my window

Flowers on concrete,

in concrete, in intangible quantities

in my heart- they fill my hollow

with colour like never before.

In situations that cut me open,

they run to get stitches

again and again:

loyalty that I wonder how I deserve.

And sometimes they lose me in crowds of

unknown faces at every turn

but in the break

between two rocks at a faraway beach,

away from reality, I’ll find them

blossoming between my broken heart.

again.

 

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My hairstylist.

🎶

I look at her beauty,

Not just simply her body:

I see the attitude on her lips,

A fullness in that pink;

The risk in her hair,

A dash of electric blue;

The bold on her eyes-

More than a look, really:

The daunting played by black coal.

I see through the facade now

 

I see her past-

Rotting away in a cage of misery,

Sickening in the mirage of beauty

 

How could she have allowed herself to live thus?

How could she have let situations kill her?

 

I see her beauty in that resolve

And for the hundredth time,

I appreciate it,

I beautify it,

I love it.
And I hope for more of it.

DTR is difficult.

No one, I repeat, NO ONE is selfless in everyday communication. Unless of course, if they have reached a stage of self-actualisation. And then too, only maybe.
So here goes my story.

Today she thinks of her desires as unrequited
But how could she have expected another human to be selfless?
Expected him to love her because she loved him and to think about love the way she understood it?
She couldn’t. Yet, love made her mind think differently.
Soon, the reality hit, that she knew
That she didn’t know him.
He was probably busy:a stranger fulfilling
His desires of affiliation and affection.
And she was only a means to an end.
So he was probably doing it all for his own purpose.
And the poetry that came from him was in most probability his effort to satiate. His effort to flatter. And to feel loved. And to give love.
And she was stupid enough to exaggerate his actions so much like the beautiful yet slightly deceiving words of a poem.
Sadly, this story would end,
Not in the myriad ways she conceived it to end-
On their last date, dared to kiss
In a movie, with hands brushing
On a chance of a move,
When he realised that he loved her,
BUT in the truth is that
She MUST be without him.
Because he WILL be gone.
It’s like one of the books she read:
Faintly brown pages leaving her heart wrenched in desire and hope.
And it would hurt as she thought, talked and moved
It would hurt her that she, the Goddess of her world,
Could have been so painfully wrong in her idea of how congruent they were.
In the end, it was just a simple mistake,
They had different visions for defining the relationship. For the DTR.
And with that he took her hopes of love away for the second time.

The buzzfeed video that proved to be an inspiration for the end of this story and for this title: