Damn, your eyes.

Draft 4
(HER)

He had beautiful eyes. Not the kind which makes you want to drown, but the kind that makes you want to swim back to the shore, which makes you want to sit on the sand while you watch the waves move back and forth, and which you just can’t get enough of. When I looked into his eyes, I saw myself. And even his eyes, just like his words, made me feel beautiful. But beneath the reflection lay emotions he never wanted to talk about. There was a story of fear narrated by his frantic eyeballs, fear of not being held on for, fear of not being worth someones time. He had once told me about it, about being an atelophobic (which he considered to be the worst fear of all).

His gleaming eyes told me about the times when he had breakdowns but no tears had come to his aid. Stars twinkled in his eyes, not of hope but of longing. Longing for the day when his fears, anxiety and confusion come to a rest. I wanted to be there when the day came, and I wanted to be the reason why.

(HIM)

She had beautiful eyes. Not the kind which makes you want to drown, but the kind which makes you want to set the world on fire. She had fire in her eyes, and it made you warm. It was a campfire by which you and your friends sat down and had marshmallows as you sang “Stairway to heaven”. It was a forest-fire burning down everything that came in its way. But it was also the fire that heated a blade to remove a bullet. It was beautiful, destructive and caring. But beneath the fire were stories only a few people knew. There was light in her eyes, unfolding the story of how she feared the darkness that consumed everything every night. There was passion in her eyes, a passion that burned brighter every day. And there was chaos, stories of when her heart had been broken, of when her mind hurt from thinking too much, and of when she just could not do anything about it.

The fire in her eyes was not of anger, but of intensity, passion and love. It was ablaze, and I wanted to burn in it. I wanted to destroy myself in her love. I wanted to burn in her fire. I wanted it so much, that even as I take my last breath, I hold it in a little longer and burn a little more.

 – Excerpts from a book I will never write.


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To my favorite author.

Dear John Green,

*Spoiler alert for anyone who hasn’t read his books.*

Your books are paper, but your stories are not. Thank you. Thank you for teaching me so much about love, life, friends, ourselves, our choices, the marks that we leave and about the greater perhaps. For the thousand times you put into simple words the emotions that humanity has been struggling to understand. I know you did not define what love is, but you did tell me what it looks like. You made me realize that pain demands to be felt, and that the world is not a wish-granting factory like the Genie. You taught me that everything except the last thing is survivable.

You were the light at the end of the road, reminding me that we never have to be hopeless because we can never be irreparably broke. You told me that love is keeping the promise anyway. You made me look for Alaska, and you made me let her go. You taught me that the only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive. You told me that everything that happened is just a fabrication of things as I remember them. You made me aware of the spiral of my thoughts and that life ends in the middle of sentence.

You put me on the roller coaster with Augustus Waters and Hazel Grace Lancaster, and you showed me what love can look like. You gave me serious travelling goals for my bucket list.

“I fell in love the way you fall asleep: Slowly, and then all at once.”

You taught me that some infinities are bigger infinities, but they’re infinities nevertheless. And that everything is a side-effect of dying. You made me believe in friendships and forevers, no matter how long they last. When Augustus used his wish for Hazel, I realized that love is not necessarily fancy dates and pretty gifts. Its a thought wrapped in colors of patience, sacrifice, care and humor. When Q looked for Margo,when he believed that she had left clues for him, and when he got angry when she didn’t turn out to be like the image he had, I learnt to accept everything as it is, to do whatever it takes to find the thing I love and to be real.

When Margo told Q that everything is uglier up close, and Q told her that she was not, I realized that love is looking at all the scars and fears and faults and loving the person anyway. When Pudge fell in love with Alaska, I realized that love needs no story. And when he finally let her go, I realized that love is strength to hold on, and strength to let go. The scratches on paper that you gifted to us, and the marks that you will leave behind are made up of realities and fantasies. You taught me that love is not ending up together, and you taught me that it is turtles all the fucking way down. Hazel and Gus, Aza and David, Pudge and Alaska, Q and Margo are all part of me now. Thank you for gifting me the ultimate dumpees. You see, what you must understand about me is that I am a deeply unhappy person, and you made me happy.

Yours,

Just another fan.


Related post : To my life-savers.

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞