Thursday, 10 August 2017
I don't like forced conversations. They hang on to the boredom of every tired soul and pull at my slouched shoulders.
I don't like forced smiles. After I am done lying to the world, my still face returns to me and sticks to my tongue like an ice-cube.
I don't like forced anything. There is a slim chance that maybe I don't like anything right now and I choose not to force myself to like.
Wednesday, 9 August 2017
We are different, he and I. I don't know how we found each other likeable enough to befriend each other because we are different, in so many ways. He likes to think we met because of chances and choices we both took. I like to think that... well I don't think anything of it.
Maybe I can't bring myself to believe in any of it because my eyes have stayed too long in the dark. His bright positivity hurts my already adjusted eyes and I'm blinded, unable to see what he wants to show.
Maybe I'm in denial of too many things at the same time because the last time I thought I met someone because it was meant to be, I was proven wrong in so many ways. When you keep telling yourself something over and over again, you start to believe in it. You start to believe that you can never be happy.
Whenever I find myself laughing or even close to being happy, I keep looking for a reason to get angry at him. I make a silly face, start to feel comfortable, but then start to find a reason to be anxious. I start to feel an emotion creep out of the keyhole and I push it in by flipping it off. I tell him he's sensitive when instead I envy how he can feel so easily, and I can't feel at all, sometimes. I keep searching for a quarrel with him and block him away, because I'm convinced I'm doing him no good. He hugs me and I am afraid to feel its warmth because the men who last hugged me burned me with their coldness in the end. He kisses me and I'm afraid to feel it go down to my beating heart because I'm afraid it won't be able to stand the strength of his feelings for me. I look at him and see someone I can never be. I look at him and see someone who deserves better than a mangled up excuse of a human.
I left the city where he literally fell and sprained his leg to get a chance to see a peep through the guarded facade of mine. I'm sobbing in my airplane seat texting him that I'll try not to get angry at him so easily, when I really mean that I'll try to feel happiness; let in his happiness so I can feel a little.
I don't know if he'll stay long enough, if he'll be patient enough to stay till I can feel love again. At the same time, I don't know if I would ever want him to because my issues aren't his to bear. I want him to grow, and all I have is a seemingly barren dry heart.
Thursday, 3 August 2017
I am sat on a seat— one I probably paid too much for — on a plane to Gauhati, and then home, and my nose hurts from rubbing on it a bit too much because I've been crying. I'm crying because of all that I'm leaving behind, because of all that I've been a part of, because of all that I'll be missing, because I couldn't stay longer, because fate is such a bitch.