Battles of my small world

I am fighting the world… to stay calm and to not let anyone into making me believe this is life. I wish you understood where I stand. But I also wish you never hear my battle stories. Maybe that is the best I could do to you and to 'us'.

Diary: Page 5

I have mixed thoughts today. Was it right? Was it wrong? I try to look deeper into myself. But no hints yet.

My mind can jump from one thought to another. Like this.

To that.

To another.

Are you going to read this? Today? Tomorrow? Someday?

If you do, please know, I am sorry.

But I am not sorry.

No actually I am.

You were amazing.

No you were NOT.

You had a good soul. I never saw I guess.

I let you go. I let myself go.

I am sorry.

No I am not sorry.

I am just... here and there.

Someday I hope you know.

Someday I hope you never know.

So much of me

What stroke you to fall for a woman like me, I often wonder. I don’t write poems of love, long emails about how much you mean to me and how I crave your lips on my neck.

The idea of me was nice perhaps. The idea of me around always was even better. But what you forgot to contemplate of the idea of me with you always, was that poems don’t fall from the sky into your writing book. Passion neither into your blood.

When I miss you, I hug you. When I miss you, I check on you. When I miss you, I come home early. Every day was with you and every night was with you. I am always with you and the love poems are never born neither the emails with passion because there is not possibility of missing each other.

Perhaps I should not have given so much of myself to you. I should not have done so much. Spoke so much. Hugged so much. Kissed so much. So much of anything was not good for ‘us’.

Let it be

I like how you say I am not a liberated soul. I like how you observe this about me.

I often let my soul free. It wanders; sometimes it comes back and sometimes it goes missing and I work mechanically for days at my office desk.

I would say my soul is lost; not liberated. Do you know why? Because lost is the easy way to conclude. Simple and self-explanatory. Like what do you ask a person who is lost – where are you?

My soul is lost and don’t ask me where or when. Just that I am not ashamed to acknowledge this state of me and that is probably why I still keep my blog as ‘a liberated soul’.

Stairway

There is no stairway to this man’s heart. His heart has no windows or doors.

I could rip open his heart and make my way, but that will make me a murderer. I don’t want to be a murderer.

And what if his heart is empty. What if I tear out more and see there is nothing for me in his heart?

I don’t want him to be my murderer. 

Art life

'So how is your art life?'

'Don't have one.'

If by art you meant writing, I don't write anymore.

Diary: Page 4

I am tired today. I feel like my little world has stopped revolving. 
I am tired today. Like tired in a way, I don't wish to part the curtains of my bedroom. 
Like I wish not to see the Sun. Or this morning or the stars tonight. 

Why do you do this to me? Why do you act like you don't know?

My heart is in my hands. And where is your heart? I don't even know. Locked away perhaps? Or maybe with someone whom I don't even know.
That's how extremes we are, you see.

I am tired of how you have left me to imagine what could possibly be your thoughts. 
I am tired of everything in short. Even tired of writing this.