Friday, March 5, 2010

On being Ross and Rachel :P

I can bet my life on the fact (err..belief) that any living person who has walked on the face of the earth has had (or will have) a Ross (or a Rachel). It's inevitable. It's almost like the forces of nature conspire to make this happen.

One would lie to one's parents to go make out with them in the shadiest of places;
one would help them find a girl(boy)friend;
one would then feel jealous and crib about the same;
one would want them to be a part of all one's big moments in life..yada yada.
It's typical of every individual and I am not even kidding.

The close-friends-clan sees them as nothing but a 'fuck buddy'. Now that isn't entirely false, but it isn't entirely true either. What most fail to get is that, it's a rather twisted relationship.Generally perceived as a 'no strings attached' bond, it's way more complicated than that. Point being no matter what, they're just bound to get together.
Communication or the lack of it, distance, time..nothing makes them
get away from each other completely. There's this strong ...errr..thing between them that just doesnt let go..!!

The term "fuck buddies" is rather demeaning..
Remember how Rachel once famously told Ross,
"Ross, Just so you know...
with us...
it's never off the table. .."

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

of Pixies and the enchanted forests..

He has the prettiest hands;
the kind that are long finger-ed. And firm.
My hand fits perfectly into his.
He's a lover;
the kind that wraps his arms around you.
Both of us can listen to songs by Pixies all afternoon.
He's funny and witty;
the kind you have a repartee with
He also stops to check if I am hurting.
He's a listener;
the kind that not only listens but also gets.
We plan to discover some enchanted forests someday.
He's a talker;
the kind that creates memorable conversations out of a rendezvous.
We spoke about Heaven and Hell the other day.
He's not too tall;
the kind that's just about as tall to have my head rest perfectly on his chest when he hugs me.
He does that a lot.
He's sexual;
the kind writers write about.
There are imprints of his burning lips all over me.
Still.