Languages, medicines and magicians.

What has music been for you? Let me know in the comment section below! Enjoy reading. Instagram handle: @myspirals


“Music is a safe kind of high.” – Jimi Hendrix

Music is a language, a medicine and a magic trick. Dance to it.

  • Music was his mother-tongue. His tongue fumbled when he spoke English as if it were a foreign language that he hadn’t heard all his life, but when he was alone, he hummed a tune and did not miss a single note. He stuttered and shied away from conversations with strangers, but sang songs with a broad grin around camp fires. When he wasn’t feeling alright, he would shut out completely and listen to music as he thought and thought about what had gone wrong, but you could find small clues hidden in his playlist to make him feel alright.
  • Her soul had been crushed into absolute pieces and her heart had cuts all over. There was a constant ache, that seemed to run like blood in her veins and pillows couldn’t drown it out. But earplugs seemed to drive the pain away completely, or at least numb it. As the lyrics stopped her mind from wandering about, and the music brought her a much-needed gift, she could smile without wanting to scream. Music was her band-aid and no one could rip it off her scars. For her, music was like a steady dose of pain-killers and peace. Music was the only pillow that could drown out the screams, and it was the only shoulder she could cry on.
  • He was broke and broken, but managed to get into the bar right across the street. He needed to feel lost and alive, and so he stepped onto the dance-floor swarmed with broken hearts and night-outs. The music was loud enough to make him disappear as his feet moved about in an unsteady pace. The broken pieces of his heart rattled against each other, but no one could hear it. The pieces slammed against each other and broke into smaller pieces until all that was left was dust. He smiled as he took the dust and blew on it, as if it were fairy-dust and his wishes were going to come true.

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Midnight. 

It’s late, and I’m still thinking about you.

​”I am addicted.
She is my bottle of vodka.
She is my cookie crumbs.
She is the eighth colour of my rainbow.
The colour that’s everywhere,
Except inside the rainbow.
She is my three A.M.
The three A.M. pain I write about,
And the three A.M. calls I don’t make.
She is my happy ever after.
The happy ever after in a fairytale,
In those tales for my three A.M. kid,
In those stories for my four A.M. demons,
In those lullabies for my five A.M. drowsy eyes.
She is my sushi.
She is my ‘one eyelash – one wish’.
She is my 11:11 ‘Wish, please come true’.
She is my cigarette.
Here’s the fucking problem.
I’m addicted.
And she’s my nicotine patch.”


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Friends.

“Sometimes, happy memories hurt the most.” – Unknown

Memories can hardly ever be photographed. Will one picture and the thousand words it speaks be enough to justify what the memory means to you? It never will for me. For the past three years, I have missed home more than it might have missed me. My friends have moved on and I’m stuck in a time loop of where I wish I was right now, and where I actually am.

As you might know, I shift a lot. Which also inevitably means I make friends a lot, but not for too long. I haven’t found that one friend that would last forever yet, but maybe one day? Until then, I make peace and sometimes get depressed, with the memories of these friends. Here is a small and brief glimpse into my memories.

  1. When I was in fifth-sixth grade, I made a friend in Dubai. We met every day and did crazy stuff (and also, stupid) like FunTrivia. We spent hours doing nothing except throwing a ball back and forth, and talking about things I barely remember. We played cricket in the corridors of buildings, and ran away just before someone could shout at us. Tried to throw stones at trees so that the Dates would fall off, and we could have the sheer joy of eating one this way. It was amazing, really.
  2. In India, I met three girls that I called the trio. They were best-friends long before I had come along, and still are now that it has been three years since I’ve left. Three extremely beautiful girls, with whom I share so many memories. Ice skating (and falling down way more times than I can remember), games of truth and dare, trips to crazy places or simply just strolling in a park. We became friends because all four of us loved reading, and also cause one of them came to eat the first packet of lays that I opened in school. I still love them so much, although they barely remember me.
  3. With the trio, was another person. He was one of the craziest and most optimistic person I have ever met. He still might be. We played cricket, football, tennis, basketball, and every other sport we could possibly find. We have stayed over at each others place more than a hundred times, to say the least. I was a vegetarian when I met him, he loved KFC, and the rest is history. I have had McD and KFC almost on a daily basis, and that guy still got abs before I did. Ughh. XD

My friends were not something out of a fairy-tale, because that would make it unreal and not fun. We weren’t something magical either, because that would make it too good to be true. We were normal, different, and a bit insane. I think they could make a good movie on the trio, me and the last guy. I promise you, it would be fun to watch.

This was another small attempt to let you see that I am as normal, if not more, as you. And I have a life that I love despite being the one that always has to let go. This is a part of the infinity that I am, the curve that makes me. Find your friends, make memories, and don’t be afraid to let go. Robert Frost insisted that life goes on. Be happy. Okay?

Bless this life ∞
Adieu.


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What were we like?

We were like two phrases lost in translation. We made perfect sense in a language that I spoke and not at all in the language you knew.
We were like two stars that almost seemed to be touching, but were light years away. You wouldn’t know if I collapsed before it was too late.
We were like two dominoes, stacked against each other. If you fell, I’d fall with you.
We were like an eclipse. When we were together, I saw you and they saw you, but no one could see me.
We were like champagne, perfect for fancy occasions only.
We were like two halves of a broken heart. We could complete each other but we didn’t really fit.
We were like two coins, that made a lot of noise together but had lesser value apart.
We were like two nights, one darker than the other. But both still, silent, and calm.
We were like magic. I thought we were real, but you called it an illusion.
We were like two flowers blooming to be beautiful alone, but we had a stronger fragrance together.
We were beautiful. But I guess only I see it this way. Because we were like two pairs of eyes always seeing things differently.


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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)


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