If everyone got to live their dreams
Who'd write about them
Why'd you write about it unless it was broken so many times over and over again, that writing about them was the only way you could live it
Would you write about love if you weren't heartbroken
Broken dreams of some make a good recipe for dreams of many others and many more
The last of your scars has healed today
The scars you had inscribed on my skin
Like Bukowski used to, on his typewriter
The last one of them grew skin today
The last of your scars has been washed away
Could I bleed some more for you?
It's not about finding someone who doesn't hurt
For when you love is when you entitle yourself to hurt
It's not about finding someone who wouldn't leave bruises and scars
For when yours bruises fade away and your scars grow skin is when you grow up
It's about finding someone who hurts and yet heals
It's about finding someone who gives your scars and yet caresses them like they were their own
Love does hurt, almost always
Does it heal, is the million-dollar question
The day you stop looking for a place to call your home
You start building your own
The day you stop seeking a fairytale to call your story
You begin writing your own
Just when you'd thought you and you alone could dictate your terms of happiness
Just when you'd thought you and you alone were enough to live life as you'd known it
There'll come a moment
A singular moment that defies every last inch of conviction you'd wrapped yourself in
A singular moment that makes you want to believe there could be a different climax
And it'll never be the same
Ever again
You'll traverse the distance from assigned happinesses to actually finding them
You'll burn the bridges that stood between solitude and tranquility
Where were you all this while, you've often asked me
I have smiled and patted your head in silence, every single time
Not because I didn't have an answer
But then again, some answers are best scripted in love letters
For oddly enough, there's something about intimacy in measured distances
I've never believed in a right time for a right thing
And you and I coming together was never beyond that realm
Or so I thought
And now that I think of it
I guess it's better we met how and when we did
For one doesn't know the taste of victory unless one has clenched jaws in defeat
For one doesn't know the essence of love unless one has given up on the idea of love
For you and I wouldn't have known the skin of togetherness unless we had lived the trails of distanced solitudes
For you and I wouldn't have been magic unless we had seen the broken dreams
I've never believed in forevers
For forevers have been but fairytales for me
And fairytales, unlike life, are flawless
I've never believed in happily ever afters
For happily ever afters are but fables for me
And fables, unlike life, are picture perfect
I still don't believe in forevers
I still don't believe in happily ever afters
But whatever it is
I want you in it over and over again
Trust isn't fragile
People are
For abstracts are not glass sheaths to be broken and shattered
The choice to rent the abstract to someone is all but a glass floor
Trust is too black and white an idea for grey matter
If happiness found a new address
Would you follow it out of your door
All the way into a new found familiarity
Because, happiness is deserved
OR
If happiness found a new address
Would you watch it leave you at the door
As you succumb to the habit of known walls
Because, family precedes familiarity
OR
Dwindling in the fear that they would call you selfish if you walked out
Would you rather stay, telling yourself you're in debt and all you should feel is grateful
Because, life lies beyond happiness
Is what you've been telling yourself as your eyes cry themselves to sleep every night
As your new found familiarity would lie alone on a bed that was meant for the two, staring at the blank ceiling for hours, and yet not sleep
Would you rather watch it all fade in the horizon, and seek consolation, telling yourself that happiness is a price you pay to afford loyalty to a habit you've grown because you'd once thought of it to be happiness
Constants and variables can't coexist
And yet, you've convinced them to cohabit in this poorly worded chapter of the novel you call life
"Don't you feel jealous, that I'm taken?" You'd once asked.
I had smiled
And held your chin up
Dewdrops rolling down your eyes
And onto the blushing crimson cheeks
And as I pulled you closer in the ill-lit spaces
And kissed the tears off your cheeks
And as I looked you in the eyes
And held you tight enough to not fall apart
And as I tucked your hair to the last strand
And our lips met and lost their way
I told you, "In the deafening noises of the screaming society and the stinking bins of the make belief tales, you're my silence."
It's personal, it's bloody personal.
When you see faces smiling at you, on your screen
Faces you know, have been burnt to ashes
When you pray that single tick on the messenger reads "seen" someday
Messages you know, have lost their way in a dead inbox
When you hear wailing voices tearing apart on calls
Voices you know, are now all a matter of the past
The Government has skeletons in the cupboard and yet no regrets, no fucks to give
We, who didn't have cupboards big enough for skeletons, now have ghosts in our heads
Try
Try even if you fall
Try even if it breaks you to get back on your feet
And then one day
It'll all fit
Not how you imagined it to be
But fit nevertheless
And then one day
It'll all make sense
Why trying was never a choice
But the singular truth
Failure is obvious; sucess is a choice
Death is inevitable; life is a privilege
But then, how could you ever succeed if you were too fragile to fail?
But then, how would you ever live if you were too damned to die?
What's worse?
The fear of your scars being cut open all over again
The letting go of a possibility to keep your scars guarded in band-aids of denial
Or, dwindling between bouts of both
How'd you ever know unless you've lived them, and beyond?
