Winter says,

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My fingers feel flowers;

Rusted swing chains;

Standard, pale, blue poles;

The touch of people who stay,

But they return to emptiness.

I walk along city streets

And broken pavements which

Water conversations for two

But the darkness is haunting.

The moon asks me for you.

I remember those rough hands;

Lines that gave you the freedom to fly.

I remember travelling over them,

Seeing my world within their grasp-

With dreams to hold and a future

Too beautiful to be mundane at all.

“Where are you, darling?” again,

The winds whistle to me.

I look at the stars, the deep blue sky

Ceilings seem too far-I don’t know why

My hands are clueless, catching misery.
Lines blurry, confused, craving, today.

“But wait for the interval!” I fervently say.

The lens will show me scaling, anon!

Threads will hold each other tight and

Rush to make rough, familial vines,

You watch! I’ll sail over winds and oceans.

I’ll chase the sun! I’ll befriend the trees.

The moment winter enters my skin,

Telling me, “Open your eyes and

Just see yourself awake, for once.”

~~~

Inspired by the movie La La Land! 🙂

Touch, and leave a mark…please?

You live life in the breeze going by in July but I do not.

My breeze is crossing my boundaries and walking with you in the rain.

Looking at your intricate design of ‘difference’,

Smelling your carefree

And giving an audience to your being.

For a second there I am lost-

Smiling with you and talking to you

While trying to figure out how you function so smoothly,

Lost in the moment

Taking in the sunshine,

Sharing parts of yourself to this world

That you never had time to tell anyone.

You intrigue me.

Gasp for air like we all do

Give me proof of your mortality

Touch, and leave a mark

Don’t disappear like that.

But even as I say this,

You are just a passing sight I cannot realise.

I thought school trained me for life;

Why didn’t anyone warn me about the dangers of affection before?

The storm I hated.

Date of post: 15th Jan

“You know what,”
I typed furiously.
“There is a drop of water that you may see
and I may see
And I will see it,
Yet you will not.”

Only, I didn’t type. It was a thought, blown by the storm of my conscience, to the front of my mind. It was the agitation of a revolt. Though similar to others I had had, this was new at the moment.

And at the moment I felt like fighting. Fighting in the wild sea with everything but the force behind it’s wilderness. I couldn’t find the force, you see. I loved the sea too intensely to see its reality. And it wrecked me. For my love was failing me every minute.

I always thought that I would want to be one of those the sea loved. Those pristine wholesome fish, living in clear water, removed from human lives. Yet somewhere along the lines I learnt to accept my position as the rusted, isolated ship. The ship that was nothing more than one entangled, broken mess on the side.

Oh and how I admired those pristine, wholesome fish. I saw how they charmed the sea. I wished I was them for a minute. But they did make me feel like I was worthless. They made me feel like I was not admired, all those times when the sea forgot I was there.

Still, hear, hear all of the world- I did feel like one of those that the sea loved-when the sea did recognise the bond between. Only recognise I say, not accept or embrace.

So then who am I to blame for the storm between us? The sea, the fish or I?

Maybe I am to blame the mirror that deceived me: my pristine, wholesome self, which was beautiful in it’s own way- just, in a galaxy where I saw a drop of water in all it’s importance, and the sea plainly saw a vast, undefinable blue stretch.

~~~

I had written this story as a metaphor for a relationship that saw no reciprocity from one end. The narrator expresses her angst for she loves someone who doesn’t love her back and wishes that her love could see the storm that she could see-the torture of his loving behaviour.

To the three boys I loved.

To the three boys I loved,

The first one,
Fun and frolic,
Uncaring, ungiving,
Yet beautiful.
The one who unknowingly broke my heart.

The second one,
So utterly giving.
Soft like a coconut,
Hard from the outside.
Yet beautiful.
The one whose heart I knowingly broke.

The third one,
With not one quality that stood out in my list of qualifications.
The one who meant so much more than ‘bestfriend’
So caring and stubborn still.
Yet beautiful.
The one who unknowingly broke my heart and whose heart I knowingly broke.

YOU HAVE TAUGHT ME.

Your love and lack of love has allowed me to FEEL and LOVE and DREAM and then realize that the world is NOT always my canvas. That this wide spectrum of romantic relationships needs hard work and a two-sided effort.

Your love and lack of love has taught me that being selfish doesn’t help a beautiful friendship-what you already HAVE. And sometimes LOVE is greater than its benefits in a resultant courtship.

I have learnt now, with your love and lack of love, how much more I am worth. My ideas, thoughts, time, beauty and being- given to another so easily in courtship- are not priceless. They are worth so much that cannot be surmised in words.

Lastly,
I stand straight today and look above your heads but I still fondly visit memory lane and love you. I respect you. And I hope you remain happy.

It is not a sin to love. To be vulnerable. And to do silly things.

THOSE are the things that help you fall, and get back up. ❤
~~~
I had written this on March 6th for a submission on ArtParasites. Going through my documents, I stumbled upon this yesterday, and felt like sharing this with you. 🙂

Love
Two of the things I love the most: coffee and love.

Stories.

Hi beautiful ❤

I know I’ve been really irregular with my blogposts recently. So, let me explain that ASAP. For the past three months I had been hibernating with my books in my home-preparing for my twelfth standard Board exams here in India. They got over yesterday and now I plan on doing so many things with my free time! For example, I mean to include different kinds of literature in this blog. On that note, I am seriously considering writing to you stories about my life-just small incidents which just momentarily burst balloons of thoughts in my head. Narrating them would make me happy and I would also love for you to know more about me personally.

So, beginning that quest for information let me tell you that my name is Charuvi. I’m 17-about to turn 18 soon. I live in India and love life in general.

Today, I spent the day travelling to Pune and spending time with my maternal grandparents. They are adorable and I love making them smile. I also researched about my colleges I want to go to, for graduation and felt  little “wasted” for not having done much work. MOST IMPORTANTLY, I felt SO bad about India’s losing the match today. Anyway, tomorrow’s another day. 🙂

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This is a picture of me travelling to Pune, like “Nah, I’m not mad about this at all. This is awesome”

How was your day? Did you feel sad, glad, or mad? Tell me in the comments anyway. I’m here to listen. 🙂

Yours,

Charu.

Little things

Giggling about a joke between us, I felt hollow inside.
A smile without light and a presence without soul.
How far can days like these stretch? Are they like the rubberbands which never break or those which break with an abrupt ‘Oh!’?

I don’t know. Sometimes heartaches can be literal and lehal and moments can feel like lifetimes of consumption. I guess it’ll pass like everything does and I’ll feel stupid for the time I wasted.
*sigh*

Till then,
“Here and now, darling. Here and now.”

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Insanity on a windy evening

She willed herself to insanity with Selena Gomez and soon nothing mattered.
Not the paan wala on her right, the bike zooming by her left, the road under her feet or the blue ocean above her head. Boom boom boom went the melody in her ears. She was in another zone then, free and swimming. And nothing pushed her back. Though, society had never really pushed her back.
Wearing the bubblewrap of music she was a different person: herself illuminated by the drama of SFX. She still puzzled everyone and left them in her head, still looked into souls and thought about the world, still inquired after lost faces and ached to soothe ones that went through a different but not unknown kind of insanity.
Halfway through the lane, her head swung lightly to either side with each beat of the song, and she was so much in the moment-seeing every atom of her world with scrutiny and feeling a freedom that only walking on a windy evening can set sail to.