Let's just.

Let's chase clouds together.
Let's trace a map on your skin or mine and travel to find out abandoned towns.
Towns that smell like those pages of your diary. 

Let's jump into an ocean and make love with the blue and green like never before.
Let's just skip a beat of normality and leap into the abyss.
Let's just forget everything and be nothing.
'Nothing' because it  has no weight ,
'Nothing' because we would always be able to return  to each other ,
Nothing because we would be lasting forever then.
Probably then one 'forever' would count..

YOU.

You're like the last bit of smoke before a mind storm ,
So very noxious and beautiful to taste like cigarettes and old paper books mixed with antique love , death , sins and remembrance.

They say its Valentine's week.

13/02/17

Last year,on this day, everything that mattered changed and the change remained constant. Talking about now ,
The sillage that used to haunt ,kept on haunting. Kids living on the streets kept on dancing to the cacophony of the city.
The lost souls kept on wandering , wandering towards an aimless road and the meadows meanwhile yearned for the last bit of Hemingway which was as dead as the last beautiful autumn I witnessed.
Beautifully dead , yet alive.
I saw nothing against my window , not even a dimly lit sky but the paints on the pane.
There's a guy living opposite to my place  sitting with his phone ,staring at it for a phone call probably ,
Facebook is full of red and pink and I could rarely skip those mushy posts about "How to surprise your boyfriend on Valentine's day",
There's a girl I see , who came by to meet my  mom ,sitting right beside me messaging her crush mindlessly and smiling like an idiot ,
I smell someone baking caramel cake and ofcourse Alcohol ,
Somehow this time has a shade of too much red in it and I m seeing it in black or blue ,
All these reminded me of the spring that broke it's leg and a sleepy balcony with cherry wine succumbing to death,

Everything kept on moving , kept on being perfectly regular like morning newspapers with all the irregularities that came along with it ,And I on the other hand ,counting stars and losing count, kept on missing you.

Other drugs

As I switched off my laptop ,the screen blinked empty ,
I saw the reflection of my face there.
I have forgotten how I looked like. I have forgotten how my face used to look when I frowned , probably I stopped looking at the mirror often. Or probably this happens when you tend to find everything going around you is irrational and self depreciating thoughts start engulfing you like the monsters under your bed.

Its been a few months that my inbox is empty like a fair without people , or empty with people. Its empty because I couldn't find the fullness in it without the only text I longed for.
Insomnia starts getting on me like a crab and I couldn't concentrate anymore.
If you would have been here you would have still loved the circles around my eyes and hence I'm not even counting that!
Its been roughly three years that I miss my mother while she sits beside me.
Its been 21 years that I have lost the soul I had found in a brown bread packet but the feeling is peripheral.
I couldn't concentrate without vaguely imagining those lost faces amidst a little chaos.
Because someday , maybe someday I ll start missing myself tomorrow.
Someday I would stop drinking on my past ,
And stop time by holding it tight .
Because someday , I would make sense at 3 am and my phone would ring again like before , with that old voice waiting on the other side.

Till then the lullaby on my iPod will pretend to be soft breeze and moonlight ,
Till then we could pretend to be existing in each other's minds and over analyzing it with some background music..
Because till then let's just jump into the void and fall endlessly.

All That I Could Be .

There was a house with all its windows broken
I saw a bird flying across those shattered panes ,
The scratching on the wall reminded me of a feeling of emptiness inside my room, an emptiness you feel staring at that yellow light outside.

Everything doesn't have a purpose,
I exist and I still don't have a purpose.
Im like the old man on a wrecked ship , sitting and contemplating death.
I don't know why Im writing this but the face that would haunt me ,
The face that would be there on the wooden board of the ship would be the one
I ever wanted to be.
It would be me.

There won't be anybody judging ,
Just a slice of my life would be sailing on a bottle marked with stale wine ,
A message with some dead flowers inside it ,
That :

"It was all meant to be , even if it wasn't but I made it look like it.
The broken windows screamed off it's fear ,
And the bird stopped flying there ,
It was all that was left in my mind till I closed my eyes.
The last scene was the stars cutting through the sky ,
And the sun melting like the last orange ball squeezed hard ,
And the last thing left to say is the home I had been looking for was 'someone' where I wanted to grow up.

A home , I couldn't find. 

But all I could see is ,

I could have been dead somewhere beside an ocean but here ,

It could have been anywhere but here."

Reminiscent

And I still remember the dark cab ,the way you kissed my hand and how adorably you brushed it against your beard.

I still remember the way you looked at me in the dark and that peck ofcourse.
It all seemed like it was all meant to be because it all seemed that way,

And now there are only few words and faded kisses running through my veins with your face vanishing like the ship that sailed away ,

And now that we are in remains it seems like we still couldn't make it but ,

"In the deafening silence when I asked you if I could call you my snowflake ,
You said "Okay" .

CROSSROADS

Of Saturdays and your blue eyes ,
Dreams that are marked with chalkdust ,
The rocks that you left in the jar ,
Your faded red jacket ,
A veneer of refinement when you spoke ,
It was all you ever could be!

With your skin mixed with mud and blood spilled over the ground ,
The watchtower has marks of your scratching and the pink sun don't shine anymore ,
The radio has lost its channels ,
She saw and believed that the grass has lost its green ,
And you faded from the horizon again like before ,
While she spent the midnight there standing alone in the meadow ,
Thinking about crossroads
And bright lanterns!