The Friend.

The Friend.

And every time she asks him if he’s okay, He lies.

Why ?

Because he fails to look for the reason behind his exhaustion.
Is it the inflating menace around him, the empty wallet or the lonely nights, or a mistress who wouldn’t open up. Maybe it’s all piling up or maybe it’s something very different from all this.

He fails to figure out.

He looks at her sitting, smiling at yet sad. Nearly mirroring his state.

“Are you okay ?“, she asks with the most serene smile.
Yes, “, he tries assuring her with a faint smile, but she can’t be fooled.

Among the buzz around , he looks at her, the jawline smiling from the strands of her.
And it’s pure peace.
When she places her palm on his shoulders, smiling, reminding him of the sun that rises after storms, it’s a bliss.

She might not be the end to his aliment, but it does relieves the pain.She’s not the Betty to his hulk, but Joey does needs her Phoebe.
Being around her is peace, the iniquities off the general folk.

But the chemo is rare when your doc is fighting her own battles. Even though he wants to pour himself out, cry on her shoulders, he doesn’t. It’d be selfish to pile up on someone who’s already suppressed under depression, isn’t it ?

It breaks his heart to see her helpless. Two friends,busy fighting their battles, unable to help each other among the complexities of teenage life.

Hopefully, someday, they’ll break their shackles and soothe each other.
For he needs his friend.

More than he can ever say, more than she’d probably ever know.

Advertisements

The Farewell Gift.

The Farewell Gift.

When I stepped inside the cafe, presuming she’d be late as always ; I was dismayed by the fact that for the first time someone had her wait.
She was sitting in the centre table.
Eh. Not the best choice for someone of my stature.
.
you’re late!“, she said the moment I sat facing her.
.
Though the chair beside her was empty, I always emphasised on looking into her eyes. My words failed me at the gravest situations, I hoped she’d hear the things that hid behind my dark eyes.
.
“So you know what it feels like now.”, I regretted the cold in my tone the very next moment. I told myself that she deserved it, but did she?

Her phone rang.

“he’s calling. I’ll be back in a second.”

No I didn’t envy him. I was her best friend. I knew what I was going into, had decided to climb back up the hill before falling ;but the terrain became too steep and I eventually fell.

A job had to be done. The purpose of the eve. I opened my bag and took out my life’s work framed in a spiral bound 190 pages. Kept it on the table.

“what’s this?”, she asked confused.
“farewell gift.”, I smiled.
“what was the need of this?”, she said concerned about my broke ass spending cash on it.
.
Idiot.
.
“you finished it!”, she said startled at the sight of the manuscript.
“yes… Had to before you left.”
.
.
She looked at me numb, remorseful in her state of joy. She turned the pages,
                                    ‘ First Manuscript
                                      For…. Aanya
The first page read.
.
.
“Where did you end it?”
“I am still working on it.”, I lied.
I just wanted to find out if all the sleepless nights working for it, just so she could have it was worth it. If she had the urge to find out the end.
.
Years of my life, our life she held in her hand. I wondered if she wanted to relive it the way I had penning it down. I wondered if she’d appreciate it the way I wanted her to.
How idiotic it would have been, if it rested for the next six months on a shelf soaking dust?
It did not matter anymore, I had done what I always wanted to do. Even if it was inspired off a failed romance.
.
I saw into her eyes, as she gazed upon the bulk of our story. It all came back to me, how far we were sitting a feet away.
My best friend, somewhat felt like an old acquaintance.
.
“this is why you delayed meeting me?”, she probably realized why I had been avoiding to meet her for the past month.
“you were the one didn’t meet me for half a year living in the same city best friend.”, the realization hurt me every time but I chuckled.
” I am sorry, I was busy…”,
“… But you couldn’t do anything. I know.”, I still knew her enough to finish her lines.
.
.
“Don’t throw it away!”, I joked at her as she sat in her uber.
“I’ll read it!”, she said scolding as the cab left.
.
“No you won’t”, I whispered knowing the truth.

 

Taken. Taken for Granted. 

The time I have, used to be hers. I did not do anything to fall down her priority list, or so I think . The fall just hurt. 
Too  much love I suppose is hard to conjure. To being called from backbone, bolster, shield, constant  and what not, we are back to our names on certificates, down to the title. 
She was here even when she was away. 

Now, she’s away even at point blank. 

She tied my broken pieces with her strings of compassion , it’s loosening every time she takes a step away.
In an island made of kryptonite, I see no glimpse of the sun. 

Betty no longer puts her palm on Hulk’s face. 

Pepper can’t handle Tony’s anxiety attacks. 
The spaces between my fingers have been empty now for months now, 

The only fingers that they wish to entwine with, are hers. 

The crazy heart wants what it wants. 
I was her need, but then all thirst is quenched in a while. 

Now,I am stashed very deep in her chat logs. 

Maybe that is all I was ever, a contact.

A virtual being, not existing in her physical realm. 

An option perhaps, left unchecked under the submission for wants. 
I see her standing still, moving farther away. 

I am the one leaving, perhaps too late. 

Better late than sorry. 

I see my pieces on the way, they want to stay, I don’t. 
I was taken, 

I was taken for granted. 

Sarahah? 

He’d see her walking to and fro through the college crowd, still carrying her own aura of peace amidst he chaos. 
How pretty she looked, her fair plush face caressed by her hair and kissed by the wind. 

How intimidated he’d be, meeting the serenity of her eyes, wondering if they’d ever share a word. 

Until one day, he had a chance to portray his feelings. Knowing, he’d not be judged by his appearance, or attire or silence. 

To give my out the complexities of his senses pertaining to their proximity. 

To throw out his barriers knowing there’d be no threat of rejection. 

Her affirmation was suffice, but would she be another iceberg? A beauty to the world, a demise under the sea? 

Does she really care about his identity? Or is it a show on the global theatre? 

The courage cloaked the dilemma, he came out of the shadows. 

To find her not so judgemental and arrogant as people thought of her. 

Brighter than the light, sweeter than his might.

You have a nice voice – she said with her eyes black and a smile wide. 

Backspace. 

To all the Hi’s, hey’s and Good morning’s backspaced. 
Where did it go wrong? Where did we go wrong? 

We lay at night after the clock strikes twelve scrolling through the contacts,Full of people we call friends, not one to text.People changed, we too did. At times by will, at times with pain. 
Phantom phone vibration – they call it. I call it hopeless hope .Picking up the phone by the pillow only to see a clear notification bar.

Waking up in the middle of the night,finding only the  battery has gone down;and it takes you down with you every time .Deceived by the hearts longing for care, love and most importantly a friend. 
Seeing the silver lining even when it’s not there is not so healthy I suppose.
Some got taken for granted,Some became relatively less attractive, Some weren’t that useful anymore, And some were just forgotten.

These unfortunate ‘some’ started seeing people more clearly, the some regained their respect, the some developed ego and then the some started backspacing. 
Once the people who texted anyone anytime to their priorities, now ask a million question to the mirror. 

The calls became rare, the texts condensed. And

somewhere along the way, people got backspaced. 
They type the deleted texts with the glimmer of our eyes, paint them down and write it up.They humm them in their songs. Listen.

The Tantrum 

There’s this girl

His heart is her home

They say she’s not a keeper

They say he deserves better

And though he knows he does, he craves nothing more. 
She’s a damsel in distress even when there’s no stress. 

Be it her hair cut short, or her  new dress  makes her look fat
The gang doesn’t like her much. 

And they have a reason to it 

is pain that she fails to see 

is sniffed out of thin air among them 

While her sadness is his grief,Her smile is his solace
Though she’s priority no. 1,the feeling in not always reciprocated.

Her choices are not so rational i suppose. 

But then again, he really doesn’t care. 
In the moments he has with her, 

he lives her through. 

And that’s all he wants. 
But is that all he deserves? 

The small showers for all the pouring of care he does? 

For being on her 6, not once but Always

even at times when she did not wish him to

For being brave enough to let her go? 

For completing her part by part with bricks of his soul. 

Think.

I see a girl in pain 

I see a girl in pain 

With her hotness overshadowing her cute smiles

I see a girl in pain 


Her dependence taught her the needs of independence 

The caring bird in now an unconcerned soul 

The smile is a little less wider 

and the eyes a little less brighter 

I see a girl in pain

She shut the world out
Made a world among her friends 

She knows she’d die for them

I hope they know it too 

for Amidst the turmoils of teenage

I see her trapped in her own isolation 

and I see a girl in pain 
Her moves on the floor and shots after shots 

they see a carefree soul 

Tired she sits in the corner

the dance is not to blame

 I see her eyes shining brighter 
the whiskey has played its game 

for the eyes let out the tears 

I see a girl in pain

She says love sucks

for it did, the soul out of her

I see her afraid of attachments

The failed commitments are to blamed 

I see a girl in pain 

I see a girl in pain