There's oceans.

There's this thing I do now, which I have never done before, ever. Because I wanted to save us from scars for as long as possible. It's something silly and insignificant really, but it's big for me and I like that it helps hold you in a place in my heart, the existence of which, even I was unaware of. But I'm losing my mind without your face, and your touch, and your voice on my skin. I'm spiralling and constantly running away from myself and any possible triggers. Because I don't want to test you in any way - I'm testing my self-restraint and willpower in ways I didn't think possible. Perhaps it doesn't look like much because I still keep whining to you, constant-fucking-ly. 

Imagine working for as long as you do, and then staying up late to talk to your person, and them always being miserable and demanding. I get it. Anyone would tire. Frankly a (large) part of me is waiting for you to tire - almost? But as I stay up, night after night, the oceans between us keep growing larger and keeping us further and further apart. I haven't felt your radiant smile, shine on me for so long that I think I've forgotten how to (genuinely) appreciate it across a screen, more so because I'm forgetting how to appreciate most things as time passes me by, and the reality of the virus dawns on me more and more. 

Nothing seems to have any meaning anymore darling. Because nothing ever leads to you. It's an unending torture. And with the whole world literally like a sinking ship, I don't know if I will ever get to you, before I go sinking too. I'm so close to breaking my personal vow, because my resilience and perseverance is cracking. The self-doubt looms over my head, darker than before; the negative thoughts keep building up; the questions with no answers; and the feeling that I'm alone - all the effing time. I'm all alone.

I know, I know what I'm doing to me, and you, and us, and I can't seem to be able to stop. I'm so mad at myself for not being half as logical or practical or just fucking real. I want to stab the idiotic romantic fool inside me till its dead and gone - it tires me so. I want to pull my guts out so my heart can stop sinking down to them, as soon as there's a slight mention of a longer delay in seeing you. 

I always knew I had my weak spots, but to have you become a weakness, so fast, and so much, is unnerving even for me. I want to just be able to face this evil monstrosity of a virus, bringing you some semblance of comfort and peace that I seem to be so adept at bring to the rest of the  world.

Yet, I fail repeatedly, currently in this battle and perpetually in the emotion called love. I've probably never grown enough to get it right. I just hope that I do, but hoping and praying is not enough. 

Clearly, neither is love; for all the love in my heart for you, there's still insurmountable oceans between you and me tonight.

Happy 13th, you.

150 days.

I wrote you a song in my head. And it played out with your eyes looking into mine. That slow, casual, strut you took towards me, it made up the background score for that. For when you came close(r) to me and slid down the pillow, and I turned into you, so close that I could count every crease of your forehead and shirt, only there were none of the former and I added lots to the latter. The lyrics were perfect for when you eased into me and leaned in, for when you pulled me so close that there was no space for air between us and met my lips, purely because you couldn't wait any longer. You'd waited seven years after all.

The first verse played over our first pegs of vodka and the bridge covered the dressing up. But it was a never ending chorus as we walked out for a night together, and never looked back. Every step since then has been a song, a melody that we built together, the lyrics of which I wrote on my way to you but they never panned out until your touch met mine, your breath muffled mine.

I love you, not like they do in books or movies or plays. Because they seem to know what they're talking about. I don't. I love you like the unknown, the one still left to unfold. I love you like I love the first red rose I preserved in the pages of my favourite novel years ago, in the hope that some day I could take it out and hand it to someone who'd know what it meant for me to keep it all this while. I love you like I love the baby book that my parents made for me and I'd read and reread just because it made me see myself as someone who could be loved when I saw myself from their eyes. I love you like the first cassette I ever bought, and the lyrics of every song which it had that I memorised because suddenly I'd found something that completed me and made this universe make sense. I love you like like I love the last page of all my notebooks because that is where I scribble what I never have the courage to write out and then trace those words some lazy afternoon afterwards, knowing precisely what I felt back then and unknowing why I could never say it out.

I love you for I don't know any other way, I love you for I don't know what I'd do without it, I love you for I can't stop myself. I love you because I do.

Would you love me for the hell of it?

I like to think I'm just a call away from anyone who matters to me, or ever did. I don't particularly know what this says about me - the fact that even during a pandemic I have thought about her and him and you and everyone in between; wondered if you're all safe; ruminated about how I could support you. I obviously know better now so I don't actually reach out. I have make-believe conversations in my head instead.

Because it's only in songs and movies and sitcoms (damn you, FRIENDS for setting such unrealistically high standards of human behaviour) that people take the higher ground or the path less travelled by. In actuality, it's just so much easier to do the easier, more self-serving thing. To go on pretending that nobody else's feelings need to be important. I still always thought if the world was ending, you'd come over (albeit metaphorically). Right? 

So all this has really got me thinking - am I also on somebody's mind? Do you grapple with whether or not you should reach out? Do you lie awake at night thinking about my safety? Do you wish for my happiness like I wish for yours? Do you curse at the wind because it doesn't seem to carry messages from you to me? Does every change of weather do something weird to your insides? But it's been years now, and as much as I didn't want to I've figured out how to - how to let you go and let communication die out. 

Because the alternative was to drive myself insane waiting - for a text, for a call, for a sign - like I have time and time before. I've screamed and wailed and wept because I wouldn't get my way; not often, not rarely, not ever. I've raged, bruised and bargained with fate to just change this - to make conversations possible. Eventually, I've even learned to make my peace with never having any semblance of normalcy or of a shared past but just wished for an ability to look back at it without fear or doubt creeping in. I think, I think I've figured out now - how to think about you without it ripping my heart out.

It's slightly easier when the inevitable seeps into your conscious. When you judge patterns and discern what works for you in the longer run. When you (finally) understand that giving in to your need to reach out and be empathetic to everyone, all the time doesn't leave much room to protect you. I'm not one for destiny or fate but sometimes enough good happens for you to start believing that even the bad had a purpose//reason. I know, you know, we know, you weren't down for forever and it's fine. It's finally fine. Because with you, or him, or her - neither was I honestly. I just didn't want to admit it.

However does that have to mean we pretend the other doesn't exist? This one's for all of you. 
You were my childhood bestie, my crush, my first sacrifice, my best friend, my favourite brother, my whirlwind romance, my perfection, and I'm still carrying you all. 
I remember you all and find myself hoping you've found safety and comfort in these trying times.
But I'm pretty darn sure I haven't once crossed your mind. 

Because the world is ending and you haven't come over.
Right?

Riddle me this.

What is it about happiness that terrifies the crap out of me? Is it just that it's so fleeting that my guard is always up about it disappearing? Is it that Meredith Grey's quotes about pain are too deeply embedded in my brain? Is it Peyton's "People Always Leave" that has me constantly questioning my gut? 

Why am I surprised and disbelieving of happiness - almost as if I'm certain I don't deserve good things? Why am I so skeptical when somebody picks me? I keep looking for answers as to why they would and keep falling short. If someone can truly be with anyone, why would they willingly and knowingly choose an over emotional person with so much baggage? 

This cycle of questioning never ends and I keep looking for clues where there aren't any. I'll make comparisons just to feel inadequate and unworthy of you. I'll find the data to support my thesis that you deserve better and I shouldn't be standing in the way of that. I just wish it didn't feel as good as it does so I could walk away and let you find real beauty. Should I walk away regardless hoping that you find that perfect person (better on paper is also probably better for you in real life too) , all the while knowing that it will absolutely break me when you do.  

I have so many questions but the most gut wrenching and heart shattering one that keeps haunting me is this - why do you love me? Are you sure? 

I think you should know better. 
I think I should definitely know better. 

Hold your breath.

The chronology is crystal clear. The question is what sticks? The pattern or the hope? The self-destruction or the romantic optimism? Dare I dream? Dare I dream with you? I don't think I'm the one - for you, or for anyone. I may be beautiful, as you so often remind me. But these reminders will run out and all I'll remember is the hollowness and the void that your absence will leave in its wake. Why? Why am I so scared? I know what I feel and I know it is pure. What is this deep need for it to last and this unwavering doubt that it won't? 

People matter to me most and people screw me over the most - that much is certain. I allow for it is also evident. Is it because I don't believe I deserve love? Is it because I turn everything I touch to anti-gold? Is there no greater pattern and just a series of unfortunate coincidences? I'm terrified to find out the answer to this. Horrified out of my mind to actually come to know that I'm but an option, nothing extraordinary, nothing exclusive. Just an everyday mundane that makes those around her happy as per their convenience and then is easily forgotten.

Will you leave? Will you stay? Will I be forced to reevaluate myself through my life choices and my life experiences? Will the cynic win or the romantic? Is there any winning at all in a life and world as twisted as the one we currently live in? 

What am I doing here? I don't belong here. 

Forgiveness.

Dear you,

I guess I know why I have been unable to write - something that my future legit depends on - because all the letters in my head are currently addressed to you. Until I can get those out, I won't be able to write about anything even slightly meaningful to me. I was trying to avoid this because I'm scared, I genuinely am, as to what this will do to me emotionally, writing this letter to you. For once, I don't have tears in my eyes though. Maybe they'll make their way as I struggle to find the right words for you, one more time. Here goes another futile attempt at closure. 

I don't want this letter to be anything bitter. I've been so angry at you lately, that it has consumed my entirety and honestly, I was never good at carrying some emotions - anger, guilt, anxiety. I'm more at the psychotic end of the spectrum - seeking thrill, adventure and even total annihilation if that's what life and love leads me to but this neurosis? Nope, not my style and is exhausting beyond measure. Anyway, I digress. 

I've framed so many hate mails to you and your family in my head, that this is somehow not coming naturally to me. I'm not entirely sure I'm ready for this because nobody in your world has done anything for any of you to deserve this, but I guess this is more for me than anyone else... 

                         I forgive you. 

I forgive you for never looking back or reaching out. I forgive you for moving on one day after our break up. I forgive you for never understanding my love for you and undermining it in front of everyone who mattered to you. I forgive you for discarding and deleting people from my life who loved you immensely and tried to reach out to you repeatedly, siding with you, despite everything. I forgive you for forgetting my mother. 

I forgive you.

I forgive you for not holding me at the end, as I lamented the loss of my happily ever after. I forgive you for not meeting me one last time and then blaming me for it. I forgive you for removing all reminders of me from your life and building a love on my remains. I forgive you for taking all of our dreams, my dreams, and gifting them to your new girl on a platter. I forgive you for picking 2020 as the year you'll marry her, (it was mine!). 

I forgive you.

I forgive you for the social media love outburst you display each day, with no changes in the manner that you used to write for me/us. I even forgive you for citing your names as research co-authors, forgetting when and for whom you did it first. I forgive you for forgetting all our firsts, dreams, promises, the names of our never-to-be-born son. I forgive you for sharing Rockstar and Tamasha with her. 

I forgive you.

I bring myself to forgive you for all the hate you sent my way once we were over - for shaking my faith in love and humanity and friendship. I forgive you for never believing in me or the best version of me that I tried so hard to be with you. I forgive you for breaking me beyond recognition. I forgive you for never listening to 'Unspoken' the story that I only told because you were a part of my life. 

I forgive you.

I forgive you for all the gynaecological problems loving you led me to. I forgive you for not supporting me when I needed it most, just because it was hard for you, despite you having someone to comfort you all along. I forgive you for denying me closure. I forgive you for always sowing that seed of doubt in my heart that I'm unworthy of love, I'm not a good person, I deserved all the horrible things that happened to me.

I forgive you.

As hard as it is, I forgive you Firdaus. I forgive you for being another Anshuman. I forgive you for stealing what your name meant to me (long before you happened even) forever. I forgive you for carrying me in your subconscious and making your entire relationship a replica of ours. I forgive you for not being as progressive and open-minded as you claimed to be. I forgive you for not having the strength to fight your parents for me. I forgive you for you lying to me about their apparent liking for me. I even forgive you for making me a cynic forever. 

I forgive you because it's time. I forgive you for the apology that you'll never send and for not knowing why you needed to. I will keep waiting for a day to meet and hug you goodbye, the right way this time, but that's not happening. You've forgotten what we meant to each other and I guess that's okay. It must be hard to accept we were good and then continue to be a douche to me. Attitudes and behaviour cannot remain in conflict forever, right? So I forgive you for being the worst nightmare of mine, for ruining my favourite year 2018 and now for your exquisite plan to ruin 2020 too. I forgive you for not caring about me. I forgive you for being so petty and shallow during the breakup and after that I no longer recognise who you are. I forgive you for getting us to a place where despite sharing a large part of our lives, dreams and goals, we can never reach out to the other. I forgive you for making me a psychotic villain (#Durga), for ruining my memory of us, for replacing me within 24 hours, for giving up. 

All my life I've had people give up on me. I forgive you for convincing me that you never would, for making me love again, only to pull the rug out from under me when I needed it most. I forgive you for coming into my life when I was in a happy relationship, show me how it wasn't all that I needed, make me doubt everything and believe in you - only for you to do it all over again with her; for you to abandon me in totality and instead devote your time and energy into 'saving her' from her relationship. I forgive you for not telling me when you moved on. I forgive you for using your parents as an excuse against me and then for convincing them for everything I ever wanted for us, only with her. I forgive you for leading me on, during the most important years of my life, only to leave me stranded eventually.

I forgive you for changing. 

I forgive you for the transition from my perfect dream to my perfect nightmare. I forgive you for being my Thunder only to watch you share this with her too. I genuinely forgive you. You didn't do any of this intentionally. This is just how things turned out. I don't know how much of this was conscious/subconscious/unconscious; what was motivated by your insecurities and family issues and what stemmed from my horrid past experiences and inability to reassure you of my love. How much of this was me testing you endlessly and how much was you constantly running away and me trying to hold on, I'll never know. 

So, I forgive you.

I forgive you because I cannot hold on to you any more. 

I just cannot.

I cannot wait for you to do the decent, human, kind thing anymore so I'm doing it for you. Forgiving you for all the things you never will ask forgiveness for. 

I forgive you. I forgive you for this deplorable end. 

We were good. I'm sorry you forgot four years worth of memories in less than 48 hours. I'm sorry I couldn't hold on for longer. I'm sorry I couldn't reach out to you again, only to be disrespected or worse still, ignored, one more time, in one more novel manner. Trust me I tried.

In the end, I forgive you most for being your father's son. Expecting you would stand up for me was a fantasy really when you never could stand up for yourself or your mother or for what you thought was right or even what you knew was right. I know it was your greatest fear that you'd end up being the martyr between the two of us, but guess what, you were more him than her all along. 

And here I am, the hopeless romantic, heartbroken, (still!) and finding the strength from somewhere within to write this apology to us. 

Your 

(True) Martyr 

Getting through October

My dreams are made of all the possibilities of a decent, normal closure that I so yearn for. I feel so happy, satisfied and content in my dreams that we have been able to achieve that and the reality is obviously a rude contrast. In actuality, there have been no pleasantries, no considerations, just silence, misunderstandings and anger. As soon as I begin to try to make peace with the latter, my subconscious draws me into an impossible dream. But if there's some way to remember us by, I would rather believe in an alternate ending. I don't think this is how I want to remember the story so I'm just going to pretend it isn't until I change it or accept it. Nobody should have to be forced to hate their favourite person at some point (read: you) just because they couldn't match that ideal forever. 

Happy Belated Birthday.

One day I'll wish you again. 

Missing.

*

I waited.

You came, eventually.

It seemed like forever passed us in between.

Do you know me now?

Do I dare to care?

Are we to pick up where we left off?

I'm here aren't I?

Maybe we should just try to tell ourselves a good lie,

You didn't mean to make me cry?

-