He looked into the sunset, slightly squinting as the water reflected the rays right into his eyes, but he was a magnificent sight, with the sun glinting off his dark hair, crows’ feet forming on the corners of his eyes and his jaw even more pronounced as he ground his teeth together like he always did when someone mentioned her, eyes filling with an emotion I couldn’t place, and I was wondering if he knew how beautiful he was, how for the first time ever, I wasn’t staring at the sunset but rather, at a prettier picture, when he spoke again.
“The dead understand, you see, they always do: it is the living that don’t. So yeah, I think she’ll understand why I’m doing this, if she’s looking over me or whatever it is that people tell themselves to lessen the pain. Won’t appreciate it, but she’ll understand, she was smart that way.”
He ends with a bitter smile and glances towards me before starting to draw random lines in the dirt, and all I wanted to do was hug him so hard that he felt okay again because I knew how it felt to be so lost, but I wasn’t sure if he’d like that, so pursing my lips before I blurted out something about him overshadowing the sunset, I picked up my drawing book again, thinking if I couldn’t have him, at least I could try to capture him in this very moment, and keep it with me because people leave but your memories stay, and this moment was the kind that I’d remember even if I got amnesia tomorrow, I knew I’d remember him like this forever.
Image taken from here.
Life is more than mess ups, and it is more than heartbreak. Life is all about the choices you make, and I plan to find out each one of mine.
So adieu, darling.
Maybe we’ll meet someday on strange lands that haven’t been tainted with my mascara stained tears, around stranger people who will just see us as silhouettes on a street and rush past. Maybe we’ll be wiser and laugh over how stupid we used to be, maybe I’ll be able to bear the sight of you as a stranger and stand for a moment of small talk or two. Or maybe we won’t.
But I will hold on to the idea that this is not where the story ends, I’ll put a semi colon on this sentence and start a new chapter, hoping that some day we’ll get another chance to write the ending, and even if we don’t, I’ll hold on to this idea forever, keeping it folded close in the dusty cracks of my old heart.
Someday, I might be able to let light into that part, clean out the boxes upon boxes of memories you left, which lie there, along with this hope that never seems to go away but that day is not today.
For now, I will focus on every breath I take in, and every breath I let out; I will focus on each step of mine and try to put one foot after the other without stumbling as I walk away from the smoldering remains of what we never had.
The fire still rages on, but so does this old fool, my heart, and it holds on too, and for now, I will keep writing and re-writing a tragedy unlike anything this world has ever seen before.
Image taken from here.
The mud beneath my feet
And the scattered greens,
The lonely silence
Above the silent beings,
The shrieking of the wind
Echoing from within,
A little dripping drop,
Voicing a deafening ring,
Why did you leave?
Life above the ground.
Why did you go to live?
A life under this mound.
With every gush of air
That leaves my dry mouth,
I am left gasping
For breath even more
And I can hardly believe
That you’d leave me so,
But you were always unfaithful,
Loving the forest,
With her trees and vines
And tempting solitude,
While I pined away,
Putting all my affections
Into a box
With your name on it.
I now leave it by
The place that you rest,
In the bosom of your love,
Who shall spend eternity,
Showering your grave,
With her tears,
So you shall never be
In need of flowers,
To freshen the air
You no longer need,
While you sleep.
-A Mahnoor Saeed collaboration.
The wheels have started to turn.
Or rather, the wheels have started to slow down, they’ve started to stop and the clock has started its final countdown.
Everyone can feel it, it’s in the air now.
We’ve run out of time.
We’re all getting caught up in frantic attempts to tie the ends of our own tapestries perfectly, but while doing that, we’re leaving so many other ends untied, frayed, inexplicably knotted.
And I guess that is how it will remain for the rest of forever, reminding us of our choice each morning, coming back to us with the taste of black coffee, familiar and bitter all at once, reminding us of how we chose the world over ourselves, and ourselves over the world together somehow at the same time, how we chose to be selfish.
You see, it isn’t even a choice anymore; we don’t have an option, it’s been forced down upon us by society, and to choose anything else would be nothing but pure foolery right now.
So why is it that I’d still choose this over everything else?
Image taken from here. What a great photography blog!
And I know I only post black and white images with my blog posts usually, and I’m so sorry I just think they’re really pretty.
Black and white brings out beauty in even mundane things, it’s magical.
It’s 2:22 AM, and it’s been an hour since she went to bed, but you’re still up, aren’t you, still sitting in front of that screen, bleary eyed and exhausted, listening to this band she never liked but you’ve fallen in love with?
You scroll through your Instagram feed, head bobbing to the tune, when you come across a post where someone has likened their beloved to both the sun and the moon. It is a beautiful piece of writing, one that makes your heart ache with the wish that it was you who had written something so filled with emotion, but then you stop, and you think about her again.
She cannot be the moon, you think.
No, she is entirely the sun.
The moon waxes, and the moon wanes, you see, and some nights, when the darkness gets too much, it even disappears.
But the sun, my darling?
It’s permanent, and so is she, with her tempers and her flares; the sole point that anchors your universe, providing warmth on a chilly day and thawing your frozen heart.
She’s strawberries, and she is sunshine, and berries and unadulterated laughter and the smell of freshly cut grass.
You’re oranges and lemons, and the melancholy darkness of a crescent moon, when all is quiet, as if the leaves themselves mourn the disappearing of that sliver of silver in the night sky.
As different as night and day, as east and west, but don’t they say, opposites attract?
Image taken from Tumblr.