.

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.

"Muchos Besos."

I remember the summer of  2010 clearly because that's when best friend and I decided to get all fancy and take up Spanish. What a riot that was! As usual, I didn't understand jackshit in class but had a lot of fun. 

I like stranger people.

Given the summer break period where parties never end and an excruciatingly early Spanish class time slot, I have walked in on my entire class late, hungover, stinking of  previous nights' misjudgements, swollen lips and some such. And then I would almost embarrass the fuck out of best friend as I would make my way through the class to place my cute ass on the seat next to best friend's. Haha. The shit I put her through... I think she did, in fact, wear a t-shirt that said 'I'm with degenerate' on some days. No, I kid.

I hope.

That was a good summer. Best Friend, I, McD breakfasts, metro rides and so much love :)

I like Spanish- it's less cliche than French and much easier than Mandarin. Obviously, given my bad behaviour in most of my classes, I learnt very little of it...

Muey Bien. Muchas Gracia. Muchos Besos ...

Muchos Besos means Many Kisses. I think. Or something pretty damn close to it.

We are in so deep into our post modernist/traumatic/other fancy 'movements' angst, rebellion and sex. 

Ever wondered whatever happened to just kissing? Pure unadulterated kissing. Like, how we started out in the first place. At places we were probably meant to kiss and those that were forbidden to us. Dingy parking lots, cars, behind classrooms, parents' rooms, in the movies, against the wall, against each other...

Just kissing.

Ever wondered?

I don't think I did. Until now.

And then he happened. 

Eeeeeeeeee :D

Is it completely ridickulous to keep someone around for just kissing?

Bah! I probably put the 'dick' in ridickulous. And spell like a retard.

Words To Live By.

 "...Khana toh kutte bhi khaate hain...
Insaan bano..
Sharaab piyo..."

That's What He Said.

"I don't usually get this attracted to girls your age. You're something else."

You were something else too. Not necessarily in a good way.
You make my heart struggle to break out of the damn rib cage.
Not necessarily in a good way.
Ugh!

And one would think it's been too long since 'us'. Or at least, long enough. Why am I putting us in quotes? Ew.
Fuck You, Man!