Until then.

“Do you have a secret?” she asked as she jumped into the bed, next to him.
“A lot of them.” he said looking at her.
“You should let them out, free. There’s no point holding on to them forever.” she said.
“They’ll eventually find a way out. I want to give them their time.” he said with a subtle smile on his face.
She was still looking for a definite answer. Something about him always seemed mystical. He looked different to her when he tried to hide something.
“In this process, you’re making me wait too. I can’t wait for your secrets to come out. I need to know them. I need to see you like what you are.” she said as the smile on her face faded.
“You’re seeing what I’m. This is who I’m. I’m a man full of secrets, most of which you’ll never know. Secrets you wouldn’t want to know.” he sighed.
“What if I dont like the person you’re after your secrets are free?” she asked.
“That day, you’ll be as free as my secret. Or maybe, you’ll become my next secret. Once you’re free, you’ll decide who I’m. Until then..”
They kissed.
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The Untitled One.

Don’t write because you think it’s been some time you last wrote a piece
Don’t write because you want to remind them that you’re a writer
Write when it comes from within
Write when the words knock from inside
So you let them out for once
Write when it gets so suffocating
that your lungs scream out for help
Write when you want to throw off your words right on to a paper
To catch your breath once again
Write when you think you aren’t stessing over looking for the right words, metaphors and epiphanies
Write when they’re just slipping right away out of your hands
Do not fool yourself to write something that isn’t entirely yours
That’s a crime beyond illegal
Don’t write to win over likes over Facebook, or to hear comments about the right choices of words
Writing is more than that, it should first be  something you do for yourself
It shouldn’t be something that starts off as you hold a pen or lay down your fingers aggressively on the keyboard
It’s a process that’s going on all the time
Let yourself be the piece before you let that out
Don’t run behind the words that paint the most beautiful night skies
Let a night sky follow you so that you write about it in the best possible way
Write when the fire insides you burns your gut
Write when you see no other way
Write when you’re done with words that have made all books drowsy for years
Don’t write when you want to prove it to yourself that the skill is still fine
Stay strong, the writer inside never sleeps
Write when words come to meet you just like an old friend
Write when you know there is no other end to the internal wars
Write because you’re a a magician who turns pages into mirrors
Write because you want to heal lives and not just scars.

writer

Dweller.

“There was this night when I just cried. It was funny.” I said as I went through my old diary. “Why was it funny?” he asked. “Because I still don’t know why I cried.” I said looking at a photograph of me in school. “You don’t necessarily have to know everything. It’s okay.” he kissed my cheek. “It’s like I’m holding on to something. It’s like I am carrying something with me all the damn time, and I’m still completely clueless about it.” I said as I smiled a bit. He was just nodding. “And, I’m scared. One day it might just come against us like a tsunami. And everything willl be washed away. Nothing will be left.” I said as I looked at him. “Maybe. You never know. But, there are people who still build houses near the sea. You’ve permanent dweller right here, miss. Break me. Destroy my livelihood. I’ll still stick around. You know why? Because, I am obsessed with the joy of seeing horizons sitting next to you.” he said as he kissed me.

Postcards.

“It didn’t work out like we thought it would. I don’t know who was at fault though. Maybe, both of us were right in our own ways but we messed up somewhere.

The truth is, I miss you.
I miss you every moment of the day and I still cannot believe that you’re no longer with  me. I am a terrible person to be honest. I didn’t realize what was distracting me. You were right there. As beautiful as one can imagine. And, I was busy looking for happiness somewhere else.

I still miss you when I pass through our favourite coffee shop. It begins to feel like you’re around me. It feels great but sucks at the same time. Because, you aren’t really there.

Your face is something I want to see every time I get up in the morning. I still remember how it felt to kiss you for the first time. You were so good. You were perfect.

I remember the day I saw you, I knew you would mean something to me. And, you do. You do mean something to me. I don’t know how to explain it to you, and I have a battle with words every night to come up with something that explains my situation just fine, everything falls down and I end every night seeing our pictures. Still feels like yesterday.

Please, come back. I don’t know where to go.”

Purpose.

“To be honest with you, I don’t see you with me in the future. I see you with someone else, who keeps you happier than I do. With someone who is sane enough to love you carefully. With someone who isn’t so messed up with his own insecurities. I want you to be safe, happy and most importantly – away. The kind of love that is meant for you is not with me, darling.” he said as he looked out at the sky sipping on cold coffee. “I don’t want to be safe then. I would rather risk my life with you than be on a safe journey with someone else who lacks the excitement I need. Your madness is what I seek. Your madness is what keeps me alive. I’m addicted to your bizarre mood swings and your unhealthy habits. I think I find peace in your melancholic tendencies. I see a purpose when I’m with you. What else can I ask for?” she said as she hugged him.

Postcards.

“There’s so much beauty around us. We hardly notice any of it.” I said. “Maybe, you don’t. I do. I notice most of it.” he said smiling as he kept the book down. “Well. I should learn how to do it too.” I said, smiling. “You don’t have to do much. Take some time off and go out to see the sky. It’s like a dark cloth sprinkled with stars. Looks fascinating.” he said as he smiled at me. “You’ve a skill. You do make it sound nicer than it actually is.”
He laughed. “Maybe, I do. But, there are few things in life which really don’t need much exaggeration. They’re beautiful in their own way and no words can ever do justice.” “For example?” I asked him. “Look out in the morning while most people are sleeping and observe the sun. It’s selflessly giving out so much. Look at the clouds before their breakdown. They’re beautiful, but there is so much more held inside. Or, just look at you. A combination of both stories. I observe it every day.” he smiled looking at me.

Postcards.

“Stop being so harsh on yourself for once. I cannot see you sulking all the time. Sorrow isn’t supposed to be your friend. Let it go.” she said looking at him.

“Only if that was so easy. I wouldn’t be here writing poetry about people who don’t exist. My world works in a different way. I’m looking for something that doesn’t exist.” he said looking at the floor.

“And, what about the ones who exist? Do we mean nothing to you? Look at me. Do I mean anything at all?” she asked him while holding his hands.

“I don’t know what you mean to me. But, I know one thing for sure that you’re the closest I’ve gotten to the fiction I create. You’re the character I might fall in love with.” he said looking into her eyes.

“Is that a problem?” she asked leaning forward.

“All my stories have an end. I don’t want you to be a part of it.” he said and gently kissed her.