Felicity

She sets herself a task to write something. In the face of a seemingly insurmountable writer’s block, a difficult thing to do.

But the occasion cannot be missed. It’s a special day for someone and as is her wont, her best gift has always been a few well-written words.

What could she even write for a fellow writer?

So what would it be?

She sighs, thinking, reflecting back on the few months that had gone by without writing a word…

…had it not been for her dear, dear friend, wanting to see her revel in her expression, create art with those unusual words she loved to use.

That friend whose style was poles apart – so refreshing and original in its take, written straight from the heart.

She sighs yet again. This won’t do. She will not like it one bit.

Nevertheless, she wonders. Wonders and smiles at how things fall into place, how the most unlikely people end up befriending each other, only to be amazed at the similarities galore.

In a way, she does not and perhaps never will belong to her world – her world of innocence and childlike cheer. Of smiles and laughter, of Harry Porter and country music, of chocolate and 

doodling. Of simplicity and understanding.

Like a ray of sunshine in her dark, gloomy realm. I’m glad to have found her.

And so she settles on keeping it simple – her knack for elaborate, fancy prose has deserted her anyway.

Many happy returns of the day, my friend. May happiness and fulfillment find you always, so that you may never lose your smile. Remain the way you are, always. I’m glad I met you.

Unwittingly, she finds herself smiling as well.

...

Written for Hachiko...you know who you are! Happy birthday! :)

That Which Lies Within

It’s been a while, isn't it? No matter how much I change, how articulate I become, I don’t think I’ll ever let go of words like these. There’s only so much that I can do in my attempt to be succinct.

And I ramble and make small talk, as usual. I have acquired quite the knack to play with words and fill in the gaps, prolong an insubstantial conversation, if you may.

But I believe I have lost the ability to express my innermost feelings, as hackneyed as it may sound. My expression has lost its verve, its clarity and depth – and I struggle to elucidate things that came so naturally to me a while ago.

How long has it been since my writing skills went for a toss and I hit a perpetual writer’s block, I have no idea. It’s become so perfunctory, so mechanical. Words, beautiful, unusual words which I would carefully pick to adorn my elaborate prose with, to create that breathtaking, thought-provoking effect – they entice me no longer. 

And I hate the idea of sounding conventional and drab.

But, I digress. Much as I would love to rant about my writing or the lack thereof – it is not what weighs on my mind.

I don’t even know if I want to acknowledge my thoughts anymore. Facing your issues head-on can be so exhausting. I don’t want to feel drained anymore. I’m tired of crying for the wounds that only get deeper with time.

It has never been my wont to blame others, to subject them to revengeful, venomous thoughts. Anger takes the form of despair and hopelessness and I succumb further and further to self-pity and martyrdom.

Have I reached a point where I can’t be honest with myself anymore? How utterly deplorable is that.

And so I try, for once, to channel my feelings into words, address them to someone, instead of letting them reverberate against the scarred walls of my own mind. And so I try to speak of that which afflicts me the most, which has no direct bearing to the person concerned but revolves around the said being, who serves but as a trigger, a reflection of my innermost desires and fears.

I wish I could call you by name, however, to lend you so much credence especially when you yourself have no idea about the effect you have on me, will be taking it too far.

But you are there and my feelings for you continue to hold me in their grip. Attraction…desire intertwined with guilt, with hesitation and with uncertainty. All under the looming question of your perceived worth…of who deserves whom, of the larger question of being seen together, of acceptance. 

How foolishly delusional it was for me to even consider the future ramifications that a relationship between us would have entailed.

I fell for your intellect, your seemingly haughty demeanour, the air of secrecy you deliberately surrounded yourself with. In haste, I thought I had found a kindred spirit – the walls, they appeal to me to be broken down just as I yearn for someone to recognize and do the same for me.

And it was the first time I had been in such proximity to a person I liked and it nearly killed me. I hate the fact as to how evident it was – in contravention to the controlled bearing I usually adopt.

And you saw through it, didn't you? You knew what was going on in my mind. Oblivion is a ruse neither of us can adopt.

But I’d give anything to be able to know if you knew, if you had any inkling of the cause behind my peculiar behaviour. You wouldn't have spoken to me the way you did, otherwise, would you now?

That is, before I destroyed that nascent trust, by being overbearing, by pushing things too far.

By doing so deliberately knowing that you are already with someone else.

I can’t apologise enough. And probably, I have lost all the respect I had earned.