Writer’s block

So, what is writer’s block?

Do you remember that time
when his little finger grazed your wrist,
amidst the whispered conversation,
steady eye contact, and
lip gazing?
How you stuttered on the next word,
fumbled between your thoughts,
trying to forget the shiver
running up your spine, like
a dew drop on the foggy window?
You just could not remember
what you had to say next.

Do you remember that cliff,
the “What if you fly” split seconds,
the hopes for a wonderland,
an escape from this cruel world,
at the bottom of the fall?
You wanted to shout out to the mountains,
and hear them talk in response,
for they really were the best listeners.
You opened your mouth,
but no words came out,
what did you have to say?

Do you remember that stage,
your first audience,
all those gawking eyes,
on your dried lips,
and anxious eyes.
Your heart beating so loud,
the mic would’ve probably caught it ,
had you not held it high enough.
Do you remember the struggle,
to remember just the first damn word?

It’s almost like that.
But don’t worry,
I don’t believe in a dam being strong enough
to hold back the tsunami of my words.
I don’t believe in writer’s block.


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A new shade.

Is it just me who’s blind,
Or did the world go blind too?
I don’t know where,
or how to look for the answer,
without my eyes.

The wind can speak,
And the leaves can gossip.
The sun can giggle,
And the clouds can cry.
How has this remained
a secret for so long?
Every breath I take
Now has a papery taste,
Dry and evident.
Every word I speak,
Now sounds like an echo,
That fills the room
With its existence.
Every giggle that I hear,
Tickles my ear,
And makes me feel the joy
That it is made of.
How have I never been
So alive before?
I’ve tripped on the stairs,
That I had jumped over
A thousand times before,
Did it move?
The walls feel a bit too close,
And colors a bit too far.
Darkness has a strange color.
It reminds me of the night,
But also the day.
But mostly, it reminds me of the sky
Infinite.
Darkness is a void,
The other senses can only try to fill.
How is it that we’ve never
seen this shade before?

Is it just me who’s blind,
Or did the world go blind too?
I don’t know where,
or how to look for the answer,
without my eyes.


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11:11s.

There are some things that bother me every night after 2 AM, after I listen to music with lyrics that do nothing except reminding me that you’ll never be mine.

It bothers me that I’ll never love someone this way ever again. Love changes everyday, and it bothers me that you’ll never be my constant. Someday, I might love someone else a little more than I love you, but I really don’t want to. I don’t want to fall in love with a brighter smile or a less scarred hands. Why would I when I can read your stories on your wrists in beautiful ink? Why would I when I can feel this strongly for someone so beautiful?

It bothers me that my wish of you being my first kiss will remain a wish. The world is not a wish granting factory after all.

It bothers me that I’ll never be someone you text when your hands fumble and your lips tremble and your sight blurs. It bothers me that I’ll never enter your mind when you want someone to talk to. I know I don’t deserve it, but when has that ever stopped anyone? When has worth ever weighed more than love?

It bothers me that every time you ask me something, I don’t know what to say.
When you wonder if you’re my muse, should I say that I write about you all the time, should I tell you that you’re my broken promises, 11:11s, the reason I believe in love, and my muse or just say that I write about you sometimes?

It bothers me that my always will never be your someday.


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To my life-savers.

Dear F.R.I.E.N.D.S,

It’s been a long time, almost 14 years now. How have you managed to shape the lives of not just yourself, but millions others so wonderfully? I don’t know how many times someone has said this to all six of you, and yet I’ll say this one more time : Thank you for everything.

Monica : Welcome to the real world! It sucks. You’re gonna love it!
Your love life was a mess. Ethan, seriously? But you held on, and gave every other guy a chance to be your prince charming. You’ve had your heart broken oh so many times, and you’ve come out smiling every time. Life has thrown so many lemons at you, but you, being the amazing chef that you are, have always made the tastiest lemonades. You’ve made being organized fun for all of us. Although once in a while, I do leave glasses without coasters on the table. I am sorry?

Rachel : Isn’t that just kick-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck fantastic?
While we were all waiting for the knock on the door, you chose the window and just completely changed your life. Dreams were your forte. I don’t know how many people thought you were crazy to do something that you love, but I do know you’ve made following dreams easier for us. You’ve shown us what we need to know the most, that it will not be easy, and that we will make it. You’ve shown us that you’d choose your lobster over the fashion capital, and what could be more important?

Phoebe : They don’t know that we know they know we know.
It really is okay to be weird, huh. Your songs alone are life changing, no wonder the kids loved you. From living on the streets, to having one of the prettiest weddings, it has been amazing, hasn’t it? Who would’ve guessed you didn’t even have a pla? You have been the craziest undercover there has ever been, Regina. To be as honest as you, it takes much more than just balls. And to be a believer, it takes just a little faith. And that’s what you’ve given us. Balls, faith, and the confidence to be real.

Chandler : What must it be like not to be crippled by fear and self-loathing?
Time and time again, you’ve brought out the scared side of me out into this world, and made him laugh so hard, he almost choked to death. You would be the king of Facebook and Twitter, had you not shifted to the suburbs, and disappeared. You’ve had a crappy childhood, two mothers and a defense mechanism, and you’ve used these to enjoy all of life (except some festivals) to the fullest. You’ve found your soulmate in a friend, and you have found a brother in your roommate. Could it BE any better?

Joey : How you doin?
I don’t share food, either. And I love girls on bread. That’s the best kind of sandwich, right? You weren’t the dumb one. You were the best bud. Friendship has always been a priority for you, and you’ve given us goals. You’ve told us that being an out-of-work actor is much better than being something that you don’t love. You’ve told us that it’s okay to eat everything in the fridge because it broke down. You’ve told us it is okay to be a kid in this world. What haven’t you done for a friend? I wish there were more people like you, Tribbiani.

Ross : I don’t want to get over her. I want to be with her.
I relate to you most of all. Love hasn’t really been easy for you. You tried once, and your wife became a lesbian. Tried again, but said the wrong name. And then again, when you were drunk. Three failed marriages, and you’re still the reason why people believe they will find their lobster. You loved dinosaurs, and so you followed your passion. Every time you spoke about the Jurassic period, I promise I did not fall asleep. You see, I fell in love in ninth grade too, and I couldn’t do anything about it. Let’s hope for the best?

Thank you. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I’ve found it now, all because of the six of you. The three years I have been away from what I felt was my home, would be unbearable, but you were there. Life isn’t all good, or all bad. It’s the right proportion of both. But yes, Monica. I do love it.

Yours,

Just another fan.


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Grey.

Love can be cruel. You’re falling apart, drowning in your own tears, wondering where you went wrong and the damned thing still gives hope. Your wrist is cut, your mascara smeared all over, your head is dizzy and the damned thing will still not let you let it go. You are wearing long sleeves to hide the pain, smiling to convince someone that you’re fine, and saying that you’re over him, but it will still make your eyes look around for him. Love can be poisonous. It will kill you before you get a chance to think about what has happened. You will be falling to the ground, your eyes closing, giving into the darkness, and it will be the reason why. It’s not fun. It really is not.

But it is worth it.

The butterflies in your stomach, the rush of blood in your cheeks, and the constant urges to hug him tell you so. Every time you kiss him as the sun sets, every time you hold his hand just to have something to hold onto, every time you shed tears but the pillow does not get wet because he is there, you will know it is worth it. As you have sex on the terrace, drink wine on the seventieth date, and just look at each other with awe, you will know its worth it. When you listen to tapes of old music, make out in the car, or just stay together in silence, you will know that it’s worth everything that could go wrong.

Love can be cruel, and it can be sweet. You will get a taste of both. You will feel the mixed colours of darkness and light and the strange things it leaves behind. You will see the clouds darken, the weather worsening as a storm comes, but you will find peace in the rain in chaos it brings. You will see it as a poison you so desperately needed to get away from a more vicious world. You will be broken, but you’ll also be happy. You will be grey.


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