#ariaiswriting

there is a high school in front of my apartment. during lunch break, i look at kids playing basketball or just walking. i tell myself, this is how you will keep in touch with your childhood.

as an observer.

I piece my life together in this way, living vicariously through these strangers, from a small window.

Chai and conversations

Vacant eyes, these swinging highs,

Three finsihed cigarettes, an overflowing desk-

The stage is set.

Your tender gaze comes with some exertion.

Kisses smudged on cigarettes butts, you are playing your part well.

Vacant eyes, swollen thighs,

Would this be enough to keep this alive?

2 am- tired, distant, this act of love.

There it is, your tender gaze.

Vacant eyes; you fear you have lost your muse.

It comes to you in a dream;

Half awake, you scribble.

You understand the words,

just not what they mean together.

You understand me,

just not what it means to be together.

The kind I am unaware is latched on to me in my waking hours.

When you finally reached for me, my starvation for your embrace would put me to shame.

But not in the dreams.

What took you so long? Engulf me for an answer.

This desperation would rip me apart,

were I awake.

Better for it to be manifested in the dark.

Words and scratches,

you left deep crevices on the pages of the yellow notebook.

It would remind me of a girl that loved too deeply.

She didn't know when to stop watering her little pots on the window sill.

Words and scratches,

you ache so deep; these crevices give you away.

Was it the angry man that followed you everywhere? Or another whose fingers itched to be inside you? Or the lover who was deaf to your no?

Words and scratches,

you have left them hurting too.

this indecision, this constant running,

you leave crevices inside people too.

who do you become when the sky changes colour?

(feels like this is a good prompt to get me writing later on)

What if my whole life has been a series of filler episodes with an underwhelming finale?

This heartache and anger;

the peace of sitting in my mother's garden;

passing the exams, looking for a job- what if they are just a diversion?

What if my purpose isn't grand? What if, I've had to life the past 24 years, with it's many ordeals, only to move to a foreign country and look at the weird patterns of the tiles in a dingy restaurant?

Summer night, an impromptu visit to the beach.

Moonlight fell on your shoulder

I had kissed a few minutes ago.

Feet naked, your shoes in my hands, the folded hem of your jeans soaking despite of it-

I was reminded of a story you had told me last Christmas in our attic.

How you loved the beach as a little girl.

For your seventh birthday,

you wished demanded for the ocean to stay with you forever. You told your mother, you wouldn't have it any other way.

So, your father made you a beach globe-

sand from your parents' beachhouse, acquamarine waves and a little you.

A beach globe, forgotten;

until we come up to get the Christmas lights next year.

Summer night on the beach,

folded jeans,

breaking and building; the waters caressing your feet.

I couldn't help but wonder,

If this were an attempt to greet an old friend.