By The Book

There was this stranger I stumbled onto the other night. I don't know his name or where he is from or how he looks. There is a beauty about talking about life to complete strangers. Free from judgement, free from the need to care for the judgement.

He was pathetic. He used to drink every other night, gulp down cough syrup to be able to sleep. The hypocritical normal person as I am, I obviously lectured him on how he is wasting his life and how he should embrace happiness and life.

And he said a very interesting thing.
'You are all short-sighted. Easily content. Your ultimate aim is to be happy and you are ready to make compromises for it. Your happiness, your normalcy is all an illusion. You convince yourself daily that you are happy. I refuse to blend in. I refuse to lie to myself that I am happy, that certain amount of money, certain career or a certain person would make me happy.'

Trust me, I knew what he was trying to say. But it is necessary to snatch people from the claws of philosophy and let them face the practicality of the real world.

I tried. and as expected, I failed.
He does not belong here, with normal people.

So here I am now, years later, knowing that he is a far better person than I am. True to himself.

People may call him pathetic, but he knows, he understands that there is one person who never calls him pathetic.

Himself.

I envy him.
I envy how he has made peace with the fact that there is no ideal way to live life.

Departure

On that October night, when rain got caught in her eyelashes, stars descended in her eyes. I remember the way her arms flung around my neck, her head buried into my chest. I also remember the fragrance of her hair, touch of her warm wet cheeks against my lips. I knew the stars in her eyes had finally escaped and traced their way over her cheeks.

'It is raining,' I stated an obvious, 'Do you have an umbrella?'

Her eyes momentarily glinted, surprised. Then they went pitch black.

'As if you care.'

Of all the moments with her, I remember that last night we spent together.

The way her palms slowly slid from mine, reluctantly. The way her eyes refused to meet mine, scared of breaking down.

I remember it so vividly.

Because that night, with her something else left me and never returned.

My words taste bland now.
My ink doesn't shine scarlet anymore.

Blending In

Sense of belonging in the mundane world is falling like the sky descending with black clouds.

Things are falling in place with soft snaps and gentle thuds.

Standing out is losing its dark charm.

And here I am, standing in a pool of ink-blue dye dripping from my hair,
rubbing my heels in futile attempts to get rid of practicality sticking like chewing gum to a sole,
stashing my wings somewhere here-

And I am never coming back for them.

So much for fitting in.

Fresh Start

Some close boring chapters
Some leave lonely roads
Some leave countries

Yet they stumble onto the same milestones.
Reaching the same place even after miles of walking...
Taste of dejavu
Familiar turns

They wonder if they have been
walking in circles
All along
Trapped in Palace of Illusions

They leave people and places
Jobs and cities
But they never leave themselves.

'I will begin again!'
They say determinedly 
Reaching for their broken pieces
The next moment
They arrive at the same turning point
And exclaim
'Fucking fresh start!'