This Is Where You and I Meet.

A room. A room lit only by television. Reeking of smoke. I wonder what mum would have to say when she returns. One drink down. Post coital. Pizza crave-ey. Cold leftover pizza. My shoulder hurts. Pizza just reminded me of someone. Haha. Makes me smile. Makes me want to draw. I think my biggest regret in life is that I can't draw. I'm irrationally and unbelievably jealous of everyone who can draw. Well. This blog wasn't supposed to be like this. Not that I know what it was supposed to be. Not that I ever know what anything is supposed to be. But, it should probably be about pouring my heart out. 

But what do you know? There's only so much my heart has. Or maybe I don't have a heart. Or an ambition.

Cry.

cry for things you can't say. and sometimes, for things you don't even know you can feel.

To The Stars.

I woke up to the feeling of his leg between mine. Pressing. Painful enough to wake me up, gentle enough to not scare me. Gently throbbing. What a beautiful feeling to wake up to! I had barely opened my eyes when I felt his tender lips on mine. His tongue forcing my mouth open wide and venturing the insides; I moaned in his mouth. Almost immediately he started to work his way down. It felt like he knew the molds of my shoulders like his own. He then reached for my skirt and lifted it- just a tiny wee bit though. We both took a moment then to catch breath, I think. I lay their in my polka dotted underwear that were only slightly exposed because of the skirt lift. Of course he could tell I was wet. It was complete with my scent. I thought it was rather complimenting to him. Then the air filled with movements- furious movements as he pulled my underwear down and off my toes and threw them in the vicinity of my purple lace brasserie. As I  prepared for him to enter me, he caught me by surprise. He leaned in and started with licking the inner of my thighs. Gulp. I was moaning so hard my throat was becoming  fucking dry. I started to lose control of me and my mind as he proceeded. I pushed his mouth further in with one hand as I couldnt help but bite my other. Then he slid one finger in me... and then another. With that, it was almost as if I had to throw my head back and curse the motherfucker, lest I might die. He was thrusting. One harder than the previous. I was just about managing between arching my back and biting the fuck out of my lower lip. The third finger was most definitely the final blow. I wanted to scream my guts out. But my breath kept getting caught in my throat. 

And then, somewhere between my endless breaths, groans and shivers, just like that, I was off to the stars.

.

We are all slaves. The sooner we come to terms with it, the better.

There probably isn't a better future awaiting us. There probably isn't a real stairway to heaven.  We are probably never going to be ab le to do what we truly truly think we deserve to do. We are probably not made for greater things. Our lips are probably too fucking huge. Our boobs are probably going to weigh us down to death eventually. The friends we swear by would probably get over us. No, our attendance in college would probably not be enough. We'd probably have nothing to do this year. There probably won't be enough money on us for  us to splurge like we do. 

We'd probably smell bad too. 

We probably won't die in our sleep.

This is probably the best it can get.

Yes, the worst things in life are also free.

Sym-Pathetic.

Sympathy for you? Never. Sympathy is for wusses.
You're a stud and all.
You deserve love and all.

You've been an influence on me, yes.
A strong one, yes. A bad one, yes.
You of course saw it as a good deed throughout.
Influencing me was your charity.
And charity does begin at home; or so I've been told.
It's all way back in the past now; or so I've been told.

Past, recent past, present, near future, distant future, future...whatever.

A happy ending.

It's a shame, really.

How can two people who are this bound by history and pain not get one.

They at least deserve an ending.. happy or sad. But no end, here.

It goes on. Monotonously and uncomprehendingly.

Could it be because we have seen each other through a lot?

I, for one, have seen your faith and beliefs turn into dust after 9 drinks too many. 

You, for one, have seen mine collapse much sooner.

You're extremely accepting of my long overdue waxing appointments.

Like I am of your lack of articulation and participation. 

But does that alone, among some other things, give you the right to expect?

The right to merge the lines of non familial relationships with me?

The right to call us something that we aren't. We aren't for a long long time now.

You know it just as much as I do. 

It's all way back in the past now; or so I've been told.
Past, recent past, present, near future, distant future, future...whatever.

I don't even know where I'm going with this. 

It's not like I'm writing here the things I would tell you someday.

I don't even know what to tell you. Or me. Or us.

After seven years and a hell lot of people later, how is it that we share this uneasy little bond-thing?

It's unfair. Even you are.

Am I supposed to be sympathetic?

Sympathy for you? Never. Sympathy is for wusses.
You're a stud and all.
You deserve love and all.

2nd of April. Then and Now.

On the second of April last year, I drank lots and India won the Cricket World Cup.
On the second of April this year, I drank lots and I kissed the woman of my dreams.
It's funny what alcohol can do to make magic!

Today is not the second of April anymore.
Today is the third of April.
Today my University Exam Date Sheet is out.
And it's nothing like kissing the woman of my dreams.


Maybe I need more alcohol in me to make it through...
You know? 'Cause it makes magic and all...

Obsessed.

You don't have to love me...
throw me, bite me, hurt me
push me, fuck me, abuse me
look at my ugly face and spit on it in anger
or ignore me when I am talking to you, ever so deliberately
make remarks about my soul, if you will
cheat on me just to tick me off
be out to get me, lie or deceive... it hardly matters...
You don't have to love me...

You don't have to hate me...
hug me, kiss me, love me
catch me, fuck me, forgive me
dream about you, I and us to sleep
light up at the mention of my name like it's your favourite in the world
tell me superficial things about my beauty like you mean them
you could get intimidated by my presence sometimes
or let me notice you noticing me, every time you do
feel blessed just to be a tiny part of my fragile attention span... it hardly matters...
You don't have to hate me...


Either way, I need you to be obsessed with me.