sometimes you have to keep aside
everything that makes unmakes fills stills kills rips grips trips strips cuts hurts tears cheers soothes calms balms takes breaks slices ices heats beats finds binds cares pares gets pets treasures protects nurtures tortures outlines moulds gives saves heals grounds frees loves uses calls tails fails pains sustains suffocates resuscitates does undoes you
and then ask yourself
what are you now.

i do this nowadays.

i leave my cab windows down. i leave my hair open. i let my eyes travel as far as they dare. outside and inside.

go with what makes your heart flutter

self pity is a pudding quicksand

things are supposed to look smaller as they go away from you.
so how come what leaves always seems greater than what stays.

giving up is not easy.

ruin is boring.
self-destruction is terribly overrated.
pain is not a badge. unless you're wearing it under your skin.
the pride of being a victim is about as understandable as superman's red underwear.
if you're happy don't look for justifications.
if you're not happy leave.
we often don't know how much we hurt others.
after a while we don't know that we don't care.
this is a blog not a bottle. there is no message for you here.
at least none that you didn't write yourself.

some people are just waste of hurt

never underestimate the survival instinct of mediocrity

'you are someone else
i am still right here'

a love that baffles the heart

i thought loving and destroying yourself for someone who made you willingly or by default, is the greatest passion in the world. till i saw someone loving unconditionally unendingly unhealingly, the one who destroyed him. by default and by design. who tore him to so many pieces that he forgot what jigsaw he belonged to. who ate his shell and threw him away, open to the raw jaws of uncertainty. the one who then, inspite of a bloating stomach, went after his core and burned that down as well. who negated him by refusing to acknowledge him. who taught him nothing by choice. who gave nothing and took everything, sometimes even things he didn't have, things he couldn't live without, things i suspect he would willingly give him anyway, had he just said the word. the one who rode on the chiselled shoulders of his stubborn adoration and then promptly chopped off his arms. in that someone's knifemarked back i've seen true hurt. in his refusal to utter a single word of complaint i've heard true devotion. in the silence of his skipped beat at the mention of that other one, i have witnessed a love of unbelieveble strength. a love that feeds on itself. a love so completely self-made that it doesn't need the fuel of a good memory, a loving look, a secret touch, a late night sms, a drunk promise, a word of encouragement, a show of affection, a shield, a smile, a nod, a caress or a shred of hope to keep it going. a love that doesn't fade, no matter how much pain and rejection seeps into its pores. it's as if his love has become him. if it goes away, he will disappear. it is a love i couldn't imagine could exist. it humbles me. inspires me. mocks me. teaches me. makes me feel lucky. makes me feel like a fool.

funny how people tend to confuse knowing someone inside out with the right to hurt them. when in reality, neither exists.

there is nothing more difficult than setting the alarm for a lazy conscience

for years a warm bird sat on my cold chest
for years it made my heart flutter
the day it suddenly flew off
was the day i suddenly knew
it was my warm heart that made the cold bird flutter

if there is anything that makes unmakes changes breaks tricks defines defeats incites intimidates uproots unhinges you, let it not be someone else's opinion of you. that would be an insult to life.

love with the thirst of a deep breath
hate with the finality of indifference

people who are really obsessed are rare and are usually unaware, unvocal of it. most are just obsessed with the image of being obsessed. the saddest part is, they go through their whole lives believing they are the first kind. the second saddest part is, those who see through them and love them despite them, will never have the heart to tell them what they are or what they have become. because, and that's the third saddest part, because that image is all they have. let them hold on to it. all we can do is spread out our arms below them, to hold them when eventually they do see the mirror. by courage or accident, whichever hits first.

next we know baba ramdev might claim he can cure people who like the colour red.

started reading kazuo ishiguro, my second jap writer. he is surprisingly brit in his writing. especially after haruki murakami it sounds strangely alien. i think i like haruki better. but then i'm only a few pages into kazuo.

you can fool everyone. you can fool yourself if you put in a little effort. but you can never fool the ones who truly love you.