Skidding through the dark

There's no time to breathe. She doesn't want any.

She's scared if she has the time to breathe, she'll open her eyes, turn around, and run away yet again.For her its just a eerie song she's dancing to. One that's as pretty as its dark, even with her eyes open.

For a change the dark is comforting.Its a cocoon she's feeling her way through, more aware than when there was all light and she'd have the sun shining in her eyes, blinding her with obscure un-kept promises.

The dark is unfamiliar, cold but benign.



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Smoke

Its not like its not hazy any more.It probably is more than ever before.

But now she knows better.About this smoke that isn't without a fire. And that it isn't necessary for her to breathe it.To lose her way in it.She has to find the fire though. No doubts about that. She needs that fire to hold on to, to warm herself, to burn in.

Wonder why she loves the winter more than summer then, if she's fascinated by fires so much? Is it cos of how cold she really is ?

She's probably asking for too much of herself.

The smoke won't clear if the fire is to burn.




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Absolutely Everybody

" Have you heard this?

"Familiarity breeds contempt and absence makes the heart grow fonder"

"hmm.. N familiar absence ?"

"I wondered about this for a long time before i made up my mind that its familiarity and not absence , more like an 80-20 split "

"Fonder Contempt ?"


The conversation couldn't have been for real. Such conversations are rarely so, so masked are the smiles, words and intentions .

But it happened, and happens in everyone's life, every once in a while when the familiar world just does not conform to the reality as it is. When they slip into the mode of looking for a model to predict happiness , for all.

But then can you ever really predict happiness ? can u every really apply logic to feelings? She blurts out out a big NO.
Maybe cos she truly feels it cant be so. Or maybe its her ego that stops her from looking for a pattern to her randomness. Almost as if she is proud of it, and cant let go.
Maybe it is because when you fit a pattern to feelings, its the same as logic. And what would result is a tarnished version of the raw, pure instincts and emotions.


Maybe its all a way to hide




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Putting pen to thoughts

If it could be summed up. This is how life would be summed up.

Cant thank the author enough....




https://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=148092698568484



Serenading Life
Of Orange Skies and searing hope
Of almond sands and endless banter
Of Blue Seas and resplendent chimera
Of violet breezes and conspiratory smiles
Of white brunches and cosy cameraderie
Of aqua brooks and resplendent musings
Of dazy walks and fuzzy mush
Of amber sun and burning desires
Of rusty moors and wistful broodings
Of almond sands and endless banter
Of red wines and unspoken promises
Of Vivid Balloons and woven dreams
Of Yellow and love
Of silver shores and hopeful beginnings
Of rusty moors and wistful broodings
Of Crimson sunsets and drenched nostalgia
Of ashen streets and unequal music
Of pearly nights and whispered yen
Of rainbows and sweet delusions
Of lilac umbrellas and boundless joie de vivre
Of golden waves and untamed ardor
Of Olive woods and hazy laughters
Of sepia evenings and knotted hands
Of soulful ballads and seducing life


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No rain

All I can say is that my life is pretty plain

I like watchin' the puddles gather rain

And all I can do is just pour some tea for two

and speak my point of view

But it's not sane, It's not sane...



The music on her playlist has changed.

It had to at some point. Tomorrow or today. Maybe yesterday. Maybe for the better.

She'll listen closely again. Pick up the melody. Sing in her head, hum along.
Maybe the melody is more beautiful now.




.

And once more..

Once more she'll look behind. And look ahead. At the same time.
Is it strange that its still the same and she isn't ? But then she's never been a switch. Its just been a breeze of wind that she's been in always. Flown with it. Somehow that's what's helped her survive she's always thought.

Today however she'll probably not flow with the wind. Maybe not survive either. But does she have a chance any other way.
Maybe she just rambles a lot. Wishful thinking they say.

Who's ever changed the wind and where it flows.





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Sands of time

She sees the past slipping through her fingers. She has an option though. To pick and collect the sands again. Save them from oblivion. But its the past she reasons. And how do you hold on to it forever. You only make your present. That's all there is.

The past could be a part of it. If you want.

But the memories of whats gone will go away too.
Past of today and of yesterday.


For once she's faster than them all. Not the one left behind.

She's the one who's ephemeral.



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