Master, you have five minutes of order left. How would you like to spend the three hundred seconds before chaos? What does it mean to have a few breaths until the entire human existence screams your name? I want to know in exact words what it feels like to be you at this moment. Is it how an Oscar nominee feels in the seconds between the envelope is opened and the winner of the award is announced? Or is it the feeling you get right before you die when your entire life flashes in front of you? What is the burden of those seconds? Was Einstein correct in saying that all time is relative? Do these two hundred and fifty seconds bear the weight of seventy-five years of your minds work? Or are they simple the distance between uncooked corn and popcorn? Because if these are the most important seconds of your life then they shouldn't be called something so ordinary. You can change the entire fate of the world in a few seconds and you can warm up tea in a few seconds. How could two things with such different magnitude be measured on the same Richter Scale? Would you compare the speed of the clouds with the viscosity of a flowing river? Both are made of water. Where do you draw the line? Who gets to draw the line? Can I decide what I want to compare? Because if I could, I would compare the depth of these two hundred seconds left to the amount of comfort I feel in my mother's arms. But even then, I have a fair inkling that the latter would win. 

Missing Pieces

I like how when I click to open my Tumblr, it says "Open Missing Pieces."

Like it's all up to me and I am just not trying hard enough. It's nice knowing that I have the power to know myself. To count how many breaths I want to take and take one less just to prove my control. 

You know all the wisdom quotes about knowing yourself being the greatest power? Fuck, it is. It bothers me at times that I can't control the amount of blood that flows through my veins. I can't get up and decide, I feel like 4 pints today. I am less giving, I need my existence to scream the fact.

Do you remember the stupid status thing going around on Facebook a while back? The tbh one? I used to like those statuses. People always told me that I was sweet, nice, kind, etc. And I used to read those and think, how sad is it that so many people know of me but not me. Because I am anything but. I have always been anything but those things. I am filled with bitterness so extreme that sometimes my thoughts shock my core. I live on this awful principle that the world has been unfair to me. I lost my parents fairly young. People keep telling me I have put up with that fairly well. What they don't know is the hate inside me. 

In eleventh grade, my English teacher told me my writing was very raw. It's one of the many reasons I have a lot of respect for her. She hadn't known me for more than a week then. She had just read an essay I wrote. An essay that was sort of fiction. And she had summed up my entire personality in one word based on that. 

I am raw. So raw that if you were to slide your palm over my heart, you'd find thorns of a cactus fluffy. I'm the kind of raw that makes your throat bid your entire life for one drop of water. And when you get that drop? It feels like you're walking on broken glass. It hurts too damned much. 

I am missing way too many pieces of my soul. The reason I would be kind to you is not because it's the right thing to do. It's not because I want a heaven. And it's not because of some sense of morality. I am kind to you because I can't afford you looking at my missing pieces. So if I am nice to you, know this well, I am superficial to you. Because believe me when I say, I am a monster.

All these people in this town are liars. Did you know you could lie with your eyes? If a lie needed words, then the mute would be saints. But the mute here are the loudest liars. They know how to speak lies with their eyes and fingers and every other part of their body better than others. They speak it better than others. Their entire body screams of my sins. Every time they look at me, I take a step closer. I am walking towards believing them. Save me before I lose myself. I believe my feet have grown brains. 

Every time I think of you, my mind starts reeling. My blood starts to waltz when I didn't even know how to dance. My limbs feel like a nebula, they lose all mass when they hear your name. I want to explain my condition to the people around me. I want to tell everyone that I am not insane. That the reason I lose my words when asked about you is because my knowledge of words wouldn't justify the way your lips curve in a half-smile when you find something amusing. How could I use my words to describe the light in your eyes when you look at me? I can't pen the way your eyes talk to me. I am asked to put in words what our silence says for us. Do you see the fault in their absurd request? 

I want to explain my sanity but my voice shakes. I can't say your name without thinking of the way the stars would bow to your existence. I feel small, you see. Inconsequential, infinitesimal, worth nothing more than a grain of sand does in a desert. They ask me to sum up my feelings for you in words. They have lost it. You know the tiny rainbows you see in dried water droplets when sunlight falls on them? I see you in them. Because surely if something so tiny could hold an entire color palette then it must be love. How do you write about love that makes angels weep? You don't. You become it.

Sometimes I look through the window and see a child. A little four year old girl. I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me. I see her kicking a soccer ball around. Sometimes her brother joins her, but usually she’s alone. I just sit by my window and look at her. She looks so precious. I don’t know what gets into me but at that moment, I want to protect her from the world. I know it’s ridiculous. I know I don’t know her. I know it’s not up to me to do anything for her. And yet against all rationales, I want to protect her from what’s out there. I want to protect her from growing up and finding out the beauty of knee scars and slide burns. I want to protect her from getting her dreams crushed. I want to protect her heart from being snatched out of her body and stabbed until it ceases to exist. I want to protect her from finding out that the person she idolized was actually a pervert. I want to protect her from every painful thing in the world. I want to protect her innocence. I want to save her.

So I scream at the universe, don’t you see how fragile she is?

The universe answers, do you not see her tears? She is carved of bones and spirit. She is made of stars. The heavens and hell rage a war over her soul. And yet all you see is her delicacy. 

Do you see this storm raging in my heart? Do you see how my blood whirlpools and sucks your very entity in? How could you then ask me to ride with you on a boat that sails through that whirlpool? Do you think of me as so less of a human that I would lead you to the eye of the storm, oblivious to the fact that there is a storm that exists? 

My heart refuses to separate oxygenated blood from deoxygenated blood. All my arteries and veins are in a mesh. My body is going to kill me. See what you do to me? 

You’ll literally be the death of me.

A Love Letter

Hey you!

You asked me out for coffee and I said no. I think you got offended when I said no. Please let me explain my situation to you. I said no because I am too shy. I said no, not because I don’t like you, but because I am scared of my feelings for you. I am scared of not being good enough. I am scared of doing something embarrassing. I am scared of how you remind me of home; a home I never knew could exist. I say no because I am terrified to take my heart out of that steel cage I buried it in a few decades ago. I am terrified because lately I wear a stupid grin on my face everywhere I go. I think people are starting to notice. It frights the living shit out of me that now my mind aimlessly wanders to you. I would be sitting there in the middle of a test about genetics and instead of thinking about the phenotypic ratio of the peas; I would start thinking about your beautiful smile that reveals your crooked teeth. Damn it. I don’t want to think about the fullness of your lips and how mind-shattering it would be to kiss them while I’m talking to my dad about Obama’s presidency. You are living in every part of my brain and it pains me to think that I have no lucid thought left anymore.

It doesn’t make sense, you see. People say that when two people are in love, they’re good for each other. You are no good for me. I can’t write something without writing about you. I can’t eat without wondering whether you’ve eaten something too. I can’t go to bed without looking at the stars outside, pondering whether there is someone out there who wanted our stars to cross just one damned time. I take a shower and start humming a cheesy love song thinking about you. Shit, see? This is another piece of writing that you have taken over. Don’t you see how you have taken over my life?

It sickens me that my thoughts begin and end with you. My dreams? Let me tell you what a joke they are now. My dreams are promising me that we will have a small house in the suburbs of a big cold city. My dreams tell me that I’ll have a small living room with walls covered with bookshelves. There will be warm fire burning in the fire place. A love seat right in front of it. We will be sitting on that love seat, your arms around me and we will be talking about life. Shit, I don’t even know what’s wrong with me that’s how much of a goner I am.

You know, I used to be able to sit down and write satires full of angst. I used to write fiction. Words would just pour out of my head on a piece of paper and they were filled with rage. The anger in those words could kindle a fire big enough to burn every single forest in this world. But now, I can’t fucking write a piece without mentioning you in it. You know why that scares me? Because I read somewhere that a writer loves you if they write about you. I have not been able to write about anything but you.

You see why I am terrified? Because I might have fallen in love with you.

I struggle all right. The incessant threat of my words to spill out of my eyes never ceases. I have worn my heart on sleeve. They told me I needed to sew it back to its rightful place. I refused. They then told me to put it in a steel cage and bury it along the coast of Normandy. I refused yet again. 

They mocked me for my resilience. I fought the urge to fight back. I fought with all I had a war I couldn’t win. They asked me to bring a jar with me. They then took me to the Sahara desert and asked me to put every single grain of sand in that jar. Would you believe me when I told you I did my best to do so? Well I did. I started with both fists, hoping it would hurry the process. Then as the jar started filling, I used one to put the sand in while the other to level it. I wanted to put in as much as I could in the jar. Then I started choosing just the grains that looked shinier than others. But I just couldn’t put the entire desert in a jar. 

I wanted to ask for another jar. For many other jars. But it wouldn’t have been fair. There was a queue of people behind me, all holding empty jars. They wanted to accomplish what I hadn’t, knowing against all rationales they couldn’t. I wanted to scream. You just can’t put the damn desert in the jar. But would they listen? Would you?

Such is the price of sadness.

You know what sadness is?

It’s knowing pain. The kind of pain that brings you goosebumps when you hear about it.

It’s this evil evil monster that resides inside you. Kind of like a Dementor. It feeds on your wishes, your happiest memories. It brings about your guilt and then soon that is all that resides in you. For a few moments, you doubt your entire existence.

Such is the price of sadness.

Imagine, just for a second, your worst nightmares. Now imagine them in a pile. Now imagine if that is all you see.

Can you live with that feeling? Waking up and realizing that it’s another day you have to get through.

Such is the price of sadness.

There is a blackness that surrounds you. A deep, intense, darkness. Not the kind where you can see the stars and wish upon them. The kind that has no light at the end of its tunnel. Its a tunnel that keeps going on and on forever. You want to escape it. You wish to escape it. But you can’t.  

It’s a horrible feeling.

So horrible that it hurts to exist. So horrible that for a mere fraction, you want out of your skin. But what if you get used to it?

Too many emotions. I feel like I am grappling on to hopeless threads. Threads that will lose their strength with my touch. Threads that are best left untouched and unbroken. I’ve been feeling this way lately, like whatever I touch, I end up breaking. Is it a bunch of minuscule probabilities added into a gargantuan of misery? Sometimes I feel as if my failed digits value more. I don’t know what any of these words mean.

I am thoughtless. I am overflowing with thoughts. My brain is ready to explode but my mouth betrays my brain. Can parts of your body be at odds with each other? Can one part of your body be fighting a battle against the other part? Can one lose a war within self? How do you explain that, though? 

Hi, my name is _____ and I lost to myself. The blood that you see? It’s because my heart didn’t agree with my brain and my mouth raged a war of silence on my brain. 

Grotesque images of pointless words.

I am not even sure why I write anymore. I used to because I thought I could. I used to because this was the only ray of light. But now? I am not so sure.

I have nothing to say. My verbiage reveals only this statement. I have nothing to say and think. My verbose should burn in fires of inferno. But I think, the unnecessity of my words will be chunked out.

I have given up, I deem.