The Art of Loving Right

To the man who made me feel like I was worth every second of his time with me

Glancing at the bottle of Sula left upon her bedside next to the glass vase of white and pink lilies, she knew her life was far from being empty. She looked to the other side of her bed, and saw that the rumpled sheets definitely were, though. Empty. Just like the clear glass cups on the night stand there. Remnants of last night's toast to happiness lay nestled at the bottom of the cups, almost dried to the surface. The taste of the delicious wine could still be felt on her lips. She imagined they would be stained purple and red now.

She strained her ears to listen for any sounds in the rest of the house. None at all came to her. With a dejected sigh, she let her head fall back to the pillow, and stared at the ceiling.

Look at that, the fan's off-centre!

She remembered her drunken surprise from another night which had amused him so much. His chuckling had grown more intense, as she turned to look at him in indignation. He had responded by covering her mouth with his, taking her to a sweet momentary paradise.

Last night, he didn't let her babble a lot. There was no time for that. They both knew it would be the last time ever. There was none to waste. Or so it had felt.

She remembered being nestled in his arms afterwards, not caring that he was still covered with a sheet of sweat. The scent of him mingled with hers was comfort beyond comprehension. His warm embrace made her feel safe like a baby with its mother. She had buried her head in his shoulders, finding that nook reserved for her alone. Not anymore.

Desperately trying to ignore the tears that formed in her eyes, she now got up from her bed and walked away and out of the room. She didn't want to, but her eyes kept scanning for signs that he was still there. The smells from the kitchen were missing this morning. I make the best coffee in the world! She had teased him about that every single time he whisked his coffee and sugar into a smooth paste. She would never have coffee made by another, now. It didn't feel right. Perhaps, even tea, as she recalled another occasion where he had made tea and coffee in succession for twelve of their friends.

Not willing to break tradition, she sipped on a glass of cold water, shivering just a little bit. He would have come to her, hugging her from behind, making sure she never did shiver. There would probably be a few light kisses on the back of her neck too, before he settled to rest against her for a few minutes. She would pull his arms tighter around her, and he would oblige. Today, her thick cardigan felt inadequate for the job.

She looked at the time, and decided that she needed to get out of the house. One more moment spent in here would probably see her break down.

On the other hand, there was not a place she could go to now, she had memories of him in every place she'd been to in this city. With that, she let loose the flow of tears that she had willed herself to not cry.

Don't forget me, that's all I ask of you.

She didn't think she could, for one moment, anyway.

Glitter and Gold

The stars are calling out to me. They wink at me, promising me new lands and stories. They know I want to see them all. They tease me, because they know I can't.

The stars, they seem so lovely. They shine bright enough to mesmerize me, then dim themselves right before I can blink.

They seem so mysterious; are they holding back more secrets than I should want to know? They smile at me indulgently; maybe the hushed whispers are just my imagination.

The stars, they make me want to touch them. They don't tell me that I will burn if I do. They want me to burn.

They don't let me look away, the stars. There's always a newer one shining - just for me, it seems.

The stars, I keep believing they're my friends. I am never told they never were. They're my constant companions. I do not know any better.

The stars are my destiny, they tell me. I'm just a speck of dust, waiting to become what I can never be. What I should never be. They never tell me this.

The stars. They're so pretty with the moon and light. And I will never know their truth.

Dawn is Breaking.

Can you hear the wind howling in the night? I haven't heard it in a while.

Can you feel your pulse quicken maddeningly, stop for a second, and then slow down to nothing? I haven't been that tense in weeks.

Can you see the lights go brighter and brighter till they consume your head in pain? I never want to, again.

Can you smell defeat from even a mile away? I never will.

I can feel the release in my mind. I can feel that weight lifting off my shoulders. I can see the sunlight streaming through my window. I can taste the sweetness from that calming water. I can hear the music pouring out of my heart.

Life, has it ever been so good? Or, was this an exceptionally long slumber that I've just woken from.

What Matters

Ask me about tens of thousands of people hurting and dying all over the world, I may not care. But you do.

Ask me about governments rising and falling, I may not care. But you do.

Ask me about the humanity that does not seem to exist in me, I may care a bit. Okay, more than a bit. But you definitely, most decidedly, do.

I wonder whether your pressure on me to yield to your ways and yours alone makes you care, I doubt you do. But I care a lot.

I care when it is about you and me. I care when it's about the life I lead. What good can I possibly do with views like mine caring about things that move you? It's easiest and most tangible when it's about my life and you in it.

It's not that I don't care about the right things. I only care when it matters. I assure you, humanity did not skip my generation or bloodline. I'm as human as you are, and will be.

Imagine, a mind like mine, having to care about every unjust crime according to the laws written by man. Would I ever be at peace? Are you at peace? Will you be at peace for when it matters then?

Do you not see, then, you care about the world enough for the two of us, while I care enough about us?

Answers. Here are your answers, let it bring you some peace. For, I can only hope, again, that my peace will someday be restored. At this moment, your happiness is what matters. To me.

Never knowing who to turn to, when the rain set in

They say she killed her. They say she called her names. They say she was made to feel like dirt.

They say she killed her.

Bullying isn't new. Nor will it ever age.

But bullying isn't why someone dies.

No. Someone dies because they have no more of a life to live. Because they don't have any more to offer. Because they don't have the will to live.

Society will throw its sticks and stones. Tell me of a time when that hasn't happened.

Remember the lynching and burning at stake for the "witches"?

Tell me how this is any different.

When she was being bullied, she felt persecuted.

When it was over, her "killer" was persecuted.

Society always needs a scapegoat. Someone to blame.

Someone to blame when the world seems all wrong. Someone to call at fault when the roses don't bloom.

No. She killed herself not because she was bullied. She died not because of the names she was called. She died because her life had gone out like the candles in the wind.

Pinning the blame on the bully won't solve your problems. It won't stop this world from being cruel.

But it will give someone the power to wield the next time.

It will lead people to believe that bullies can make your life not worth living. It will lead people to believe that they are voodoo puppets in the hands of a bully.

It will be the deciding factor between letting a dictator reign and someone just believing in himself. It will be the fork in the road between choosing to live for yourself or letting someone else decide what you are. It will be the moment when you finally realize if you're a coward or not.

Do you really want to play the blame game now?

Or do you want to live your life the way you should?



http://www.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeedshift/what-its-like-to-be-blamed-for-a-classmates-suicide

Spaces in the Sands of Time

I got a phone call, this morning. Out of the blue, you might say.

He was upset. She hadn't called.

She texted me. He was being difficult.

I was delighted.

He never needs my help. Neither does she.

But now, I was the glue to their failing love song. I was the balm to soothe their pain. I was their spring cushion they fell back on to get on their feet again.

Is this wrong? Is it wrong to want to see chaos, only to be the one to set it right?

Is there no other way to be the one to show enlightenment and wisdom? Or is there no comparable joy?

Vicious circle, they might call it. Soon, it will lead to my hand in bringing about unhappiness. Break this cycle before it is too far gone, I say. But how, is the eternal question.

Can a soul's hunger be satiated with pure avoidance and ignorance? What other sins must I commit to fill up that void?

Rondo

He left. Again.

Of course, he did. I'd been trying my level best to drive him away. Subtly as subtle could get, but I tried as hard as I could.

I still don't understand why he keeps coming back. What it is that I could possibly offer him.

All I see is the same person smoothly talking me into letting him stay for one more time, for one more chance. He talks of old times, gets me nostalgic. He talks of newer times, gets me hopeful. He promises to change, I believe him for the moment. He shows that he hasn't changed, I break inside. He keeps coming back. And I let him do it.

I wish I knew why I did that. And how to stop doing it. Till then, I'll have to devise new ways of driving him away. Again.