Thursday, June 27, 2013


You came into my room
With poison on your lips, didn't you?
It seems as though my mind and body
Both dissolve with your kiss
I hate myself as 19 years old
I hate myself as 19 years old

If only that were the case, she mused. Sure enough, she hated herself at nineteen years – not the pathetic onslaught of aging, nor the seemingly burdensome responsibilities of adult life that awaited her.

But the jaded, world-weary outlook that has been her bearing since quite some time. Talk about carefree days – she never had one, rather, couldn’t bring herself to be like that.

One year of living away from home – from that self-imposed hermitage where she was blatantly disconnected from the world in its entirety, so much so that her mind became her refuge and the vivacity of her thoughts remained unmatched by reality till date – and her carefully crafted realm stood in tatters, leaving her in limbo.

She still had nothing to come back home to.

Except, maybe, how even in the few remaining days at her disposal before this wearisome sabbatical would end, she’d still leave the door unlatched at night.

And relapse into dreaming the few hours of sleep which she allowed herself, those visions growing more disturbing yet cathartic in their wake.

Nonetheless, someone never failed to show up there as well.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

She looked up from her work, one hand absently twirling a highlighter. Editing was mindless work after all, and mindless work was all she did these days – staying up till the early hours, unwilling to fall asleep.

The clock chimed four times as she finally got up to face him; her hollow, apathetic gaze tracing his indignant expression. She chuckled bitterly. “I hardly think 4 in the morning is the right time to have such life-changing conversations.”

“Says the one who’s up every night doing even more worthless work.”

“Don’t say it. You have no right to.”

He held up loose pages, torn and frayed but very much legible, marked in neat letters…her handwriting. And regrettably dated, she couldn’t help thinking. “How do you expect me to not the state the obvious and question the rest?”

“My fault for leaving things around like that. And, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I wouldn’t want you to accuse me of leaving you alone.”

“You’re not doing me a favour.”

“I might be doing one, once you’re done pushing me away.”

“I never asked you to stay in the first place.”

They continued to look at each other – he, rather coldly and she, with growing disbelief. She numbly took in his tall frame, the dark, brushed-back hair, the pale, angular face – contrasting with her ragged appearance, roughly cut hair falling wildly around her lean shoulders, nicotine-stained hands looking deceptively frail; her slender, enchanting form reduced to a mere shadow…

She shook her heads, wishing the whimsical thoughts away, aware of the grim truth that sunk in even more. “Why are you even here?”

“Ah, so you have wanted me to leave since a while anyway, isn’t it?”

She locked her sight with his – two pairs of dark eyes reflecting past glory, present despair, future uncertainty.

And she couldn’t bring herself to speak but nevertheless did:

“You’re free to go.”

He bristled at the words and she winced involuntarily, half expecting him to close the distance, take her by the shoulders and shout for all he was worth. Much as she even wished for that to happen, it was a line she would have no one cross.

A line which he was well aware of. “You have your way yet again,” he spoke calmly, no remorse about having to concede showing in his countenance.

Then again, it had never been about him.

 She turned away, pacing towards the door, almost whispering, “I wish I didn’t.”

She woke up with a start, her fingers clenched around the sheets and her breathing ragged. Dark strands clung to her damp cheeks. She grew increasingly furious at that, hating how sentiments got the better of her.

It was not over, though. Not by a long shot.

Dawn did little to light the surroundings, but she could still discern the telltale silhouette against the window, waiting.

As if on cue, he turned, sparing her one glance before raising his hands in defence. “Yes, I heard every word.”

She tried not to berate herself for her long-drawn somniloquy. “You knew it either way.”

He stepped into the dim light. “I will spare you the trouble.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You won’t have anyone else be that accommodating…not for a while at least.”

She looked away. “I’m yet to know whether it’s the right thing to do.”

“I trust you enough to move forward regardless of your decisions.”

She looked at him, surprised at his show of faith. He was willing to affirm to her intention of finding herself – in other words, a whimsical notion of societal detachment, a desire driven by disillusionment so severe, she didn’t want anything to do with anyone. Perhaps, that was all she was meant for – reverting to her own space after having tasted what was at best a burgeoning social life, albeit as shallow as it could get.

However, for her to consider him in the same superficial sphere, the thought was unnerving if not heartbreaking altogether.

He walked out of the room, the door left ajar, and she called after him, “But, you…you are still someone I wished would cross those lines, break those walls.”

All that remained were echoes of that unfulfilled wish. 


Opening lines - 19sai by Suga Shikao. And incidentally, my theme for this year. 

I would love to rant about how rusty my writing has gotten, but I'll let the readers judge that for themselves. Until next time. 

By the way, for the less discerning,  this title is a legitimate word.


  1. Ha, the unfulfilled wish! Well written :)

  2. I had planned to return with your next post, but you are not writing.

    Beautiful read, you've grown up well with words. I dare say better than anyone else around here, ah and expression!

    Blasphemous Aesthete

    1. I wish I could blame it on law school but I won't.

      Your words just made my day! Thank you for the encouraging words, as always. :)


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