Whiskey Words: Project (3)

This is Submission THREE of The Whiskey Words. The Whiskey Words is a writing project (and a giveaway), and if you’d like to participate, here are the rules.

Dark Chocolate

Bittersweet. Addictive. The smell makes you want more of it, but people can die from its over-dose. Melts in your mouth and becomes a part of you. Inseparable. Dark things can be beautiful. The hint of bitterness, the darkness is what makes it so special. So different from the others. Peacefully chaotic. Elegantly dark. Devastating.

The madness in her eyes was clearly visible, but only to the people who dared to see. The rebel. The fire. The catastrophe. You could clearly feel the storm coming but only if you were courageous enough to get into it. The way the sound of her speech touched your heart was exactly how the lightning strikes the earth. Her touch made you feel as if someone just pinched your soul. How can something be so irresistible? When she looked at you, even though you did not know that she was looking, there was something enigmatic that followed you. You felt her winsome gaze on yourself. Her dark-brown hair felt like clouds of chocolate. I knew I was devastated when I touched her lips but this tragedy was so alluring, I could never afford to end it. She was where my demons hid, but who knew that these demons would destroy me? Who knew that my sweet little baby could be so bitter? Who knew that the catastrophe that I adored, and will always adore could literally slaughter me so charmingly?

•Change in perspective•


My baby. Honey. Looking at him feels like someone is calming down my demons. I start to realize what peace is. He makes me believe in the impossible. I had always overlooked this slot in my life, the slot where lay the belief that I can be loved. I had so much love to give, so much, but who could bear it? Him. He loves me. All of me. And I love him. More than anything and everything. I feel like I finally found what was lost. My soul feeds on his. That pleasure. That satisfaction.

His smell reminds me of old red wine. His touch, each and every touch, feels heavenly. When his lips touches mine, my lips finally feels like it has got what it had been looking for. When I look him in the eyes, I see his soul. I literally look inside him and that intensity cannot be matched. He is my breath. My heartbeat. The blood running through my veins.

He is the sadness in my eyes. The air to my fire. Making me cross all limits. Helping grow out of all boundaries. Encouraging me to go wherever I want to go. Awakening my catastrophe. I love him so much. He fills my emptiness. Completes me. Satisfies my soul. But he is completely mine. ONLY mine. And only I can complete him. Only I can love him so much. ONLY ME.

He used to love my obsessiveness earlier. He admired my storms. He played with my demons. Our darkness matched with each other. I was the sweetest little girl according to him. His little baby. Then why did he have to do this?

Why did you force your cute little baby to do this to you? Where did your love for my madness go, honey?

I don’t lack anything, do I? Is my love not enough for you? I never forced you to do anything, I always do what makes you happy, then why can’t you also take care of my love? Nothing can come between us, baby. Nothing can take you away from me. Nothing can separate us. Not this world, or our friends or enemies, or our families, or us. I cannot live without you. Then why are you forcing me to? I cannot let anything come between us or our happiness. You are my eternity. Then why did you speak of separation? Can’t you see the passion I have for you in my eyes? I cannot let you break us, sweetheart. I cannot see you with somebody else. You are meant for me. For my madness, my chaos, my insanity. I cannot share you, but your happiness is equally important to me. I want to see you happy. Your smile is my soul food. Your happiness lies in freedom from me? You want separation from me? You will get it. Breaking us makes you happy? Let’s break us then. But only I can break us. You are only mine. MINE. And so I am forced to do this. I love you, my baby. I will always love you, and so I am giving you your happiness. I am your dark chocolate, right? This dark chocolate will grant you your peace. Forever.

And so I mixed the poison in the dark chocolate cake that I had made for our anniversary. Served it to him, and peacefully watched my eternal love, rest.

Rest in peace.

– Anchal Rani (Instagram)

Fairy-tale love.

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“Someday you”ll be old enough to start reading fairy-tales again.” – C.S. Lewis

He was real. She didn’t think he would be.
The first time he laughed,
it was like fireworks in the night sky.
She could look at him and
see all the hues of emotions that colored his skin
as his lips curled from one end to another.
She could hear the waterfalls crashing hard against the broken stones
as he giggled like a child who’d just found a new toy.
She felt his chuckle spread warmth to her cheeks and
the corner of her eyes creased
like the white shirt he was wearing.
It was beautiful.
He was beautiful.

He always kept his word.
He made the chocolate chip cookies he had promised on a Sunday morning,
and he stayed while I cried at 3:04 am.
He expressed himself with a tint of mystery,
but with no boring exaggeration.
He wrote me letters,
on tiny post-its
The words he wrote, are probably what my favorite novel holds.
He made me breakfast,
And took me out on dates.
He had the exotic manners
of a fuckboy,
and the raw sexuality
of one, too.
But he had the intentions of a wallflower,
the introvert with faith rimmed spectacles,
and a love stained tee.

He could cook my favorite Madeleines.
He could dance,
And spin me around in circles till I fall into his arms,
As he picks me up and we make out,
On the way to bed.
I knew he was my fairy-tale love,
When we grabbed me by the waist,
pushed me against a wall, and held my hands above my head,
Looked me in the eye till I couldn’t just look anymore,
I kissed him for the first time.
And my foot just pops up.

Previous post : Stay.
Related post : Cinderella’s shoes.

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Kisses and cravings.

“I’ll make up for all the years I was supposed to be kissing you.” – Leo Christopher

The first time I kissed her, I lit up like a Christmas tree. Heat rushed to my cheeks, my cold hands warmed up, and I had goosebumps anyway.

Right before we kissed, I spent quite some time looking at her eyes. I noticed how her eyelashes curved like the corner of her lips, how her eyes were restless like the wind before a storm, how her skin made small crinkles around her eyes, and how her lips were chapped. I looked into her dancing eyes, and could hear my heart pumping the music. I grabbed her by her waist and pulled her closer like the flowers moving towards the sun. I pulled her in so that our waists were touching, and our face were only inches apart. I looked at her biting her lips, I felt her fingers cold against my neck, I placed my hand on her cheeks and leaned in.

I leaned in and kissed her and felt like this was the last time I would. The rush of blood in my veins made me hold her closer and tighter to make sure she really stays. She tasted like a sunny afternoon, chilly beaches, and tanned skin. She tasted like the wine we would open on date nights. She tasted like late night cravings, and throat burning scotch. She tasted like wild sex, funny jokes and strip poker. She tasted of shooting stars and petty wishes. She tasted like a forever.

So I kissed her passionately and tried to say the things I’d failed to say before. It seemed to be easier when no words were involved. I let my cold fingers tell her that I’d give her wintry nights, cozy blankets and hot fries. I let the loud thumping of my heart against hers tell her that I’d be just as thrilled when I kiss her after a date thirty years down the line. I let my eyelashes against her eyes tell her that above all, my only wish is to have her forever. I tell her that I’d always stay with her and watch Netflix and drink hot chocolate, rather than going out to meet people we don’t like.

I felt it. Her chest against mine, I felt her heart beating with my heart and for the first time, I realized we were both alive, as she pulled on my hair.

“The way you feel when you kiss her (him) for the first time. Like fire within your bones, like your soul has returned to the water, like every part of you that came from a dead star is alive again.” – Nikita Gill.

Previous post : Hearts
Related post : Broken.

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“I’m always tired, but never of you” – Gnash

She smelled of sweet syrups and fresh roses, of expensive perfume and cheap thrills, of long drives and messy hair.

I miss her. I miss the songs that we sang at the top of our voices, the pictures that we clicked with our dog between us, and just sleeping all day long. I miss looking into her sleepy eyes with hot chocolate in our hands and just love in our hearts. I miss not having to miss her because I knew she wouldn’t leave me, and I miss not being alone late at night or early in the day, whenever I had a breakdown. You see, that’s why love is so unfairly criticized, because it can end friendships some times. I miss her being with me, but I don’t know if I miss us. There’s nothing to miss, so even when I try, I just fall apart with no memories to hold onto.

I dial her number every day just to hear the familiar ring of her cell, but I cut every time just after she says hello, cause I don’t know what I should say. I fear that once I start talking, there’ll be no stopping me and I’ll just go on about how I loved her and she never knew. I’d use words like waves against the walls of her heart, and I know she would try to calm me down, but anything she could say would only be like the howling wind acting as a fuel for the forest fire that my heart is in. I fear that I’ll tell her I am in pain because of something that we never became, of something that she doesn’t even know of.

I play the same songs on the radio in my car every day, and drive by the coffee shops, and flower stalls and empty streets that often call out for our presence. The receptionist at Walmart asks me why I haven’t been shopping late at night anymore, and the food vendors ask me why I look so dull. Little do they know, that I miss her muddy slippers and soft hands, and that I have lost her forever.

I miss her smell.

She smelled of sweet syrups and fresh roses, of expensive perfume and cheap thrills, of long drives and messy hair.

Previous post : To my life-savers.
Related post : Cinderella’s shoes.

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Kiss me slow.

This is how you should kiss her every time.

“Kiss her. Slowly, take your time, there’s no place you’d rather be. Kiss her but not like you’re waiting for something else, like your hands beneath her shirt or her skirt or tangled up in her bra straps. Nothing like that. Kiss her like you’ve forgotten any other mouth that your mouth has ever touched. Kiss her with a curious childish delight. Laugh into her mouth, inhale her sighs. Kiss her until she moans. Kiss her with her face in your hands. Or your hands in her hair. Or pulling her closer at the waist. Kiss her like you want to take her dancing. Like you want to spin her into an open arena and watch her look at you like you’re the brightest thing she’s ever seen. Kiss her like she’s the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. Take your time. Kiss her like the first and only piece of chocolate you’re ever going to taste. Kiss her until she forgets how to count. Kiss her stupid. Kiss her silent. Come away, ask her what 2+2 is and listen to her say your name in answer.” – Unknown (Instagram handle : Ofwhisperedwords)

Previous post : Always?
Related post : Damn, your eyes.

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