spilled feelings

Moments that make me realise I am just like my father:

One of the fondest experiences of my life has been, one of my cousin brother, younger than me....had seen me drawing on the walls with chalk (I was trying to memorise something). He said why are drawing on the walls? And promptly went and brought his white soft board -much smaller and a little dirty- with his colorful markers. And said here. Draw whatever you want to.

"Why are you so jealous of them?". I had only meant to ask it in a mirthful way.

Hold me. Tell me it'll be alright. Tell me we'll be fine.

Does it even matter. Why do I need to explain myself, after all that happened? Why am I the one who has to prove? Always?

The best thing about us, was the worst too. We held on too tight, so tight that the other person couldn't breathe.

It is a different feeling. When you have just had a great time, and now it's with you as memories. Like you know, the moment has passed, it's nostalgia now. It's akin to satisfaction and love you felt. Something like a mix of a lot of good feelings and some sad ones too.

You just watched.

Am I even dead when my heart's still beating? I can still breathe and see and know and work? But something has really died inside me.

If you broke my heart open, you would find so much hatred there. So much dark hatred, that you would shiver at the sight. You will wonder, why does she live with such darkness inside her? And I will wonder, where do I release it? Where is the place, who is the person? Where do I put my hatred? Who will look at it and not be disgusted? Who will cradle it?

Next time you see me, don't stop to say 'hi', or even wave. I don't want a reminder of my dreams. Something I could never have. Something I shouldn't even want, but I do. And so desperately, my little darling. I want you.

It doesn't happen suddenly. In little moments, ig. You see them working on their laptop, and now you can't stop seeing that image. Again and everywhere. The crook of their neck, their scrunched eyebrows, pink fluffy lips in a pout, how their ears were getting red at the corners from all that work and exertion.

When you're broken and afraid, and you need me to care for you. I know that too. You say it, "please don't be angry. Just be with me."

During every trip back home, I realise some truths about myself. They had always been in the open, but maybe I refused to see or to believe.

I have a dream