Never this moment again....

Sometimes you’re 38 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but ‘Mom’s’ probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.

Speedbreakers

Dear Backspace,

How weird is it that you are nothing more than a simple key on the keyboard but you make such a big difference in every situation. You know all the secret confessions of the night, the secret tears shed behind each word and all those unsaid verses of love and feelings. You know the times we lied, the times we cried and the times we died deep within unable to express our views.

They say diaries hide most of the stories of a person but for me, you hide most of my tales. You know the times when I sat on my bed with sad eyes and typed out a message and immediately got rid of it cause I was afraid of the consequences. You have seen me write my tales of joy and sorrow which have all been left unsaid. What's special about you with your help I can erase stories I penned once. I kept thinking how would a keyboard look without you?

No unsaid tales and no lost feelings...maybe all the words would be spoken as they were felt. I assume you have been taken for granted. You need more credit for sure. You are like a loyal friend who hides those words deep within and never let the other person know how we really feel.

Thank you for supporting my lows and helping me save my neck a million times. I will always lean on you to save myself in the future too.

Yours,
A person who constantly has their hand on the backspace key.
__

FridayMoods

I’m not a brilliant writer. I just happen to have emotions that overflow just like many other people. Except mine don’t come out in paintbrush strokes or delicate graceful moves, they spill into words and phrases.

Some days I have a lot to write, full to the brim with words and thoughts. Other days, I don't know where to begin. Once in a while, I'm afraid to bring out a memory in fear that it will refuse to leave and stay to haunt me. Some days, I simply ache with feelings that cannot be explained in mere words.

In love with the waves

Raman caressed my cheek as we watched the waves go back and forth in the sea. His hand smelled like sand and like himself. I turned my face a little and kissed his palm.

 “You okay there, Raman?” I asked when I saw the look on his face.

“Yes.” he nodded absentmindedly.

 
“Why do people say that waves and the shore are like lovers? All I can see is how angry the waves are every time they reach the shore. Every time they touch it, they destroy everything it once had,” he said after a long pause, looking at the half broken castle-like thing I had tried to make for him.

 
“Maybe it’s just a fling,” I suggested.

 
“What?” he asked, clearly confused.

 
I laughed. “You know, maybe the shore is just too much in love with itself. It does try to make it happen with the waves though, but it eventually never does happen; the waves mess the shore up for a while every time they show up, but then the shore just goes back to what it earlier was. Maybe parts of it are now missing, gone away somewhere very far – but the shore will live, you know? It always does.”

 
He found my lips before I stopped talking.

 
“There are certain perks of dating a writer,” he said and smiled.