Saturday night

It was the first ever Saturday evening in a very long time when I was alone at home. I was too emotional to function properly. He and I were to end things soon. A long-distance wasn’t for us, after all. Or was it just him? A long-distance wasn’t for him. I just had to watch him leave.

I was alone in a house when each and every spot had once been occupied by him. I could feel his presence everywhere.

I walked around the house shedding tears. I couldn’t stop crying.

I remember someone calling me. Who, I can’t recall.

I remember picking up with a broken voice which made the other person ask what was wrong.

I remember crying my eyes out till the time I couldn’t cry anymore.

I, who had always craved depth, had been a part of a relation so shallow that distance was enough to break it.

Maybe, I was overreacting. But, when have I not overreacted in life?

All soaked up in my own tears, I decided to sleep.

But, well, waking up did no good either. Nothing could cheer me up.

I went to college, did what I was supposed to do and then, a random classmate didn’t recognise me because I wasn’t my usual self. I was usually someone who happened to be a lot more enthusiastic than I was that day.

I don’t remember any more details because everything started blurring out before I could sit back and think clearly.

Once I was alone, again. I allowed myself to cry, again.

The happiest memories lead to the worst ones, as well.


I danced my heart out that night (I believe I was a little too drunk). Everyone complimented my shimmery dress (I’d picked it out on my 19th birthday, hoping to wear it on a special day).The poses for all my pictures were quite seductive (the dress ensured that there was a revelation of significant amount of flesh). I entered wearing heels (with someone who told me that my dazzle was difficult to match) and left barefoot (with someone who told me I looked prettier than the full moon that night). I didn’t know where my friends were (I’d lost my phone).  I laughed till my face became red and there were tears in my eyes (the alcohol was doing that). I tasted more alcohol when his tongue collided with mine (I guess it was the moon). My check list for moving on was complete (alcohol, busty pictures, multiple men, making out with someone whose name I didn’t know).

It was a sham, after all. The girl with all the bling and flamboyance wasn’t me.

It was someone he created.

Someone who could do anything just to forget what he was like.


i tried hard

to become her

i tried hard

to understand

what it was

that made him

love her

so deeply


if i was

a bit like her

he would

love me

a little bit.

i failed.

i wasn’t her.

let him

not love me

-i thought 

to myself.

i wish

his not loving me

made me

not love him.


the sky changed its colour

to the one it had

when the stars aligned


i entered

the place where

YOU had been/

i stared at the sky

hoping to get

just one more glimpse

of YOU

for it had been 729 days


my love

remained as unchanged

as the sky/

my heart melted


i wished hard

to catch your eye/

YOU might never

be mine and

i can never

be anyone else’s

yours forever


/gratefulness for whatever has happened/another “Why me” self-talk//traveled so far from the past/haven’t really traveled much//blessed to have had them in my life/they could’ve remained strangers//moved on completely/impossible to move on//standards too high to be met/standards too low to be happy with//moments too beautiful to ever forget/the beautiful moments forgotten easily//zero acknowledgements from unattainable crushes/unacceptable treatment from those who got more than what they deserved//

Morning after sex

“I’m over her.” he told her the morning after they made love for the first time.

Making love sounded better than any other term to her. After all, he had been her best friend since 10th grade.

It was the Sunday morning that she’d hoped to have someday. They stood sipping coffee in her balcony and watched children play in the park in front of them. Nothing could go wrong with this morning. She stood covering the marks on her neck with a scarf so as to not draw his attention towards them, again. He talked about everything that was bothering him and she felt relieved, for once. He hadn’t ever confided in her. She had seen his previous relationship and felt she knew everything about how he was when it came to commitments. She wasn’t really afraid of being his rebound. But, well, if he said she wasn’t, she felt better about herself.

Everything about the previous night and that very morning felt like a dream.

A dream which was to turn into a nightmare before the marks on her neck could even disappear.

The future, of course, couldn’t depend upon the small moments in which one could live life to the fullest.

Practical is what she was. She saw no future with him. Not seeing a future only meant ending things so that it wouldn’t be too late to actually move on.

Little did she know that whether she ended it that day or few months later, recovery would always be tough.

I love you

“I love you” I said

“I love you, too” he replied

‘Love’ became my new chant



“All my love”

“I have always loved you”

“Love you as much as I like you”

Until he said “I like you, but, love is a big word”


First Love

Your hair is too frizzy, they said

Your hair is too straight, they say

My hair is flawless, I said

My hair is flawless, I say

Your nails were too short, they said

Your nails are too long, they say

My nails are charming, I said

My nails are charming, I say

Your face is too scarred, they said

Your face is too caked up, they say

My face is perfection, I said

My face is perfection, I say

Your height is too short, they said

Your heels are too high, they say

I’m gracefully petite, I said

I’m gracefully petite, I say

You groom yourself too little, they said

You groom yourself too much, they say

I look the best, I said

I look the best, I say