tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59320354169279569432024-02-20T09:19:56.985-08:00A not so personal diaryPurvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-73047596616465331832013-05-02T01:10:00.000-07:002013-05-02T01:10:55.169-07:00On repeat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There is no reason to fret, nothing to grieve over. Things seem perfectly fine. And yet, there's a big hole where my heart's supposed to be.<br />
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Words don't flow easily anymore. The people who are closest to you are the ones that hurt you the most. And you just try to deal with yourself alone. </div>
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Alone.</div>
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How did things go back there again? How can one feel alone when there are so many people around?</div>
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Its a strange kind of loneliness. The kind where you don't even know how to express it or how to deal with it. </div>
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Nothing catches your fancy anymore. Not the books on your list, not the movies you were waiting to watch, not the food that you wanted to cook - not even the guy you wanted to see. </div>
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You just feel like staying in bed. You just don't want to live anymore - exist for the sake of it. </div>
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The only one who can fix things seems non-existent too.</div>
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There's just one song playing on repeat - pretty much like your life. </div>
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Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-71741300366354952452012-11-05T08:04:00.000-08:002012-11-05T08:04:02.401-08:00Comfortably Numb<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I sit around wanting to feel better. <div>
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What are those words? Empowered? Determined? Motivated?</div>
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Yeah yeah, all those.</div>
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But I feel run down. When I think of the person I was a year back, I don't even recognize her. I try to conjure those feelings and try to be that girl. Who am I kidding? </div>
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When you came into my life, you didn't just change it, you changed me. When you left, you didn't leave me broken, you left behind a part of you in me.</div>
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And now, every day, every single moment, I'm reminded of you. </div>
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No amounts of getaways, cleansing processes or detox sessions will get rid of that. </div>
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Sometimes, in frustration, I wish I'd never spoken to you. I wish we'd never bonded over our losses or our differences.</div>
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Then again, there are times when thinking of you makes me smile.</div>
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I've tried to stay angry, I've tried to cry about you, I've tried to convince myself that I'm better off.</div>
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Clearly, if I'm writing this, those emotions no longer exist.</div>
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I know I'll be okay, this isn't the first time someone's let me down. But this is the first time I've let someone down. And not only have I let you down, I've let myself down. </div>
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Forgiving someone else has been very easy, but forgiving myself is giving me hell. Holding myself back from the dark side is torturous. It takes me so much effort to go through every day and stay alive.</div>
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Sleep is now a luxury.</div>
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My life is standing still and I'm tired of the feeling of procrastination it brings with it.</div>
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I fear I'll stay here till its too late to pick myself up. </div>
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Comfortably numb, isn't that what they call it?<br /><br /></div>
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Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-74371971758458540392012-10-05T22:41:00.004-07:002012-10-05T22:41:57.104-07:00Chances<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The last four months of my life have been the hardest. I've pushed myself to extents that I never dreamt of and did things that left people in my life wondering what the hell was going on.<br />
I hurt myself and went around in circles and dug holes that I wanted to fall into. I wanted you gone so I could go back to being that person that I knew so well.<br />
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God damn, I just wanted to miserable because I didn't know what to do when life gave me so much to be happy about.<br />
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About a year and a half ago, I blogged about love and what it meant. And today, I think I finally understand.<br />
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Love is when your brother leaves chocolates on your bed because he finished the last box in the fridge last night.<br />
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Love is when your best friend yells at you from the other side of the world for being stupid.<br />
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Love is when he sees you in your most vulnerable state and still holds you like you mean the world to him.<br />
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Love is when your mother calls you every two hours for a week because you called her and cried on the phone.<br />
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Love is when he looks at you when you have a swollen nose and bed hair and tells you how beautiful you are.<br />
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Love is not always pretty, but it is beautiful. The fights happen because you don't want to let it go. There are moments when you just melt into a little puddle of goop because you're so touched by what the other person would do for you. It takes a lot from someone to love. But when they do, there's nothing that'll make them let go.<br />
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Its not a mystery. Its just something best appreciated without the questions and the analyzing.<br />
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Give it a chance. </div>
Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-81070959716843650582012-08-13T09:21:00.000-07:002012-08-13T09:21:08.354-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
There comes a moment in everybody's life where the way they look at the world completely changes. That one event which sets them free of all the beliefs they've grown up with. One that defies sincerity, integrity, justice and fairness in this world.<br />
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The rage and anger that follows the event leaves me almost blind and senseless. I no longer believe in this world being fair and justice having its way. I know now, thats not how it works. Sincerity is just another commonly misspelt word and integrity is fading from the dictionary. To hold onto to these beliefs when they mean nothing is excruciatingly painful.<br />
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Chasing one's dreams always seemed like such a beautiful thing to do. It isn't. It's ugly, disappointing, morally cruel, unfair and most importantly, heart-breaking. For someone who thought life had been fair to her, I realize that I've had it very easy so far.<br />
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This is where the fight begins. The re-inventing of my morals. The decision about what I want to believe in and what I don't. This is where I have to realize that the only one who is going to believe in me is myself.<br />
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I will fight. I will fight till I die. Let me see if one of you F****** can stop me. </div>
Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-24982677689063524132012-07-22T04:47:00.000-07:002012-07-22T04:49:11.877-07:00Inconspicuous moments<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
She stood by the window and looked outside the window as the city went to sleep. The thought of him felt bitter but there was a sweet after taste. She sighed, too tired to conjure up an emotion. Accepting the fact that permanence is non existent was the hardest thing she had to do. But when she finally did, there was an overwhelming peace that came with it.<br />
The lights in the city went off, one at a time, at its own pace. She turned around and looked at her king size bed. That big a bed could make a person feel lonely, specially since she knew what it felt like to have someone hold her every night.<br />
She brushed her hair aside, reached over to shut her windows and got into bed. As she drifted off to sleep, a tiny tear fell onto her pillow.<br />
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A very small, inconspicuous tear. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-84210027987196173982012-05-07T10:57:00.002-07:002012-05-07T10:57:52.055-07:00Fairytales<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Its not about where you took me for dinner or what you bought me over the weekend.<br />
Its not about all the wall posts you left or all the proclamations you made to the world.<br />
Its not about how you hold my hand every time we're out or how you walk me to my doorstep.<br />
Its not about the hearts or the many words we use while texting.<br />
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Its about how you spend two hours every morning just waking me up.<br />
Its about those late night conversations we have, staring at the ceiling.<br />
Its about how we struggle and yet, accept each other, just the way we are.<br />
Its about the tears we silently shed at the thought of losing everything we have.<br />
Its about the dreams we talk of, knowing that they'll probably never come true.<br />
Its about how we say so much by just staying silent.<br />
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Its about growing up and realizing that fairytales don't end with a happily-ever-after but as long as they last, they're as beautiful as it can get.<br />
<br /></div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-50336708108205119272012-04-14T04:51:00.002-07:002012-04-14T05:10:15.081-07:00All that mushy stuff.I'm amused every time you get drunk and tell me how hot you think I am.<div>I'm taken aback when you notice how my earrings match my outfit.</div><div>I'm touched when you get down on one knee and ask me to be your girlfriend, simply because its something you've always wanted to do - drunk or not.</div><div>I'm shocked when you notice how my eyebrows have been done well.</div><div>I'm flattered every time you stroke my hair and tell me how its the best part my appearance.</div><div>I feel at peace when we sit in silence and just watch the lake. </div><div>I'm taken aback when you stay the night to take care of me. </div><div>I'm in disbelief every time you hold my hand, kiss it and then look at me like that.</div><div><br /></div><div>We fight, throw our egos around, make a fuss, cry a little - but somehow, I never seem to remember any of it when I think of you.</div><div><br /></div><div>You make me listen to silly love songs on the internet radio. </div><div>You also make me forgive you for the earrings I've lost with you.</div><div>You bring out the bollywood in me.</div><div>You believe in me and that makes me believe in myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>This might be mushy, but I mean every word of it. Besides, I'm allowed a mushy post once in a while!</div><div><br /></div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-46332811389649043182012-03-08T20:56:00.003-08:002012-03-08T21:19:04.349-08:00Perfect Imperfection<span><span style="font-size: 100%; " >I love watching re-runs of F.R.I.E.N.D.S because I never get tired of dreaming about being one of them. </span></span><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span >The only reason I loved Barbie as a kid was because I couldn't wait to chop their long beautiful hair off and feel like a hairdresser. Of course, when my hair cut wouldn't go as planned, I would cry because their hair never grew back. </span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span >I listened to the Backstreet Boys and Westlife everyday when I was in the 6th grade and I thought they were amazing. No regrets there.</span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span >I spent two summers working in a bookstore just so I could spend the entire day reading books. </span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span >Every time it rains, I get a cup of tea or cocoa and sit by the window because I think its a beautiful setting. </span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span >Most of the things I think about doing run like movie scenes in my head. </span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span >I never learn from heart breaks. I'm always hoping the next time is different - even though I don't like admitting it. </span></div><div style="font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span >I sometimes make statements and act a certain way because I'm waiting for someone or something to come along and prove me wrong. </span></div><div><span ><span style="font-size: 100%;">I love riding bikes because of the </span>exhilarating feeling of the wind blowing through my hair. The disbelieving looks from people around is pretty amusing too. </span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" >I'm a workaholic. Being overworked is a craving.</span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" >I'm an emotional roller coaster because I go by what my heart has to say, irrespective of the number of times it has landed me in trouble. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" >I'm very dramatic. Dramatic to the extent that I'm always attracting drama in life. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" >There are times when I hit rock bottom but I always know I'll be fine. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" >I'm finally okay with being on my own. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" >I hate arguments. I just cannot hate someone or hold a grudge against them for too long. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" >I've never claimed to be perfect but I did strive for it. But I realize that I'm the one who gets to define what perfect is. And where I am now is good enough. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" >This is who I am. No regrets, no wishes to change, no alterations for someone else. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;" ><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%; " >I'm proud to be me. Aren't you?</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-56398369163753361932012-01-30T01:31:00.000-08:002012-01-30T01:42:27.153-08:00White FlagYou think I find this easy? To lose you day by day and watch you slip into an altered reality where I don't exist? You think I enjoy the cocky comments and jokes that you make? You think I don't care? <div><br /></div><div>Can't you see what you're doing to yourself? You're everything you told me you wouldn't be. What happened to all that you said to me? All the promises you made? Everything you stood for and believed in?</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't even know who you are anymore and its killing me everyday to see you like that. I don't even exist to you anymore. Watching you do this to yourself tears me up. And there's nothing I can do about it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Absolutely nothing. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-41634633606961471892012-01-16T08:59:00.001-08:002012-01-16T09:17:55.811-08:00A drugged thoughtWhy do I do this to myself?<div><br /></div><div>Why do I listen to songs that remind me of you when the only thing I should be doing is forgetting you?</div><div>When my heart is too numb to be capable of love or anything like it, why are you tempting and testing me?</div><div>It takes a toll when you know what you want could destroy you. Break you into pieces and leave you lying there, unable to ever fix yourself. But without it, you're always aching for something. </div><div>It takes everything I have to be able to see you and talk to you like I used to while I die a little on the inside.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I think that I like the ache in my heart when it knows that its lost the battle with my mind. To be able to look back and say, "That's life - you can't have your cake and eat it."</div><div><br /></div><div>You're no piece of cake. But thats why you mean so much, don't you? </div><div><br /></div><div>You're my drug. The drug that I'm trying to quit. I will probably quit. But for now, I'm still high on you.</div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-57101978878620248132012-01-01T09:53:00.000-08:002012-01-01T10:04:19.901-08:00Moments like theseShe felt his breath on her neck as she held him like it was the last time she'd get to be in his arms. He stroked her hair as he held her like she was the most precious thing he owned. They stayed that way for what seemed like an entire lifetime and yet, it hardly lasted a moment. <div><br /></div><div>He heard the honking and pulled away. He looked into her teary eyes and held back his. She smiled and stood on her toes; he bent down as she reached to kiss him on his forehead. She smiled as he picked up his bags and straightened his cap. He gave her hand a tight squeeze before he turned around to jog to the truck. </div><div><br /></div><div>As the truck pulled away, he saw her wiping away a tear - the same time she saw him rub his eyes hoping she didn't see his tears. </div><div><br /></div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-82829443224764580092011-11-26T01:15:00.000-08:002011-11-26T01:34:25.406-08:00Heart's night out.The happiest moments in life are those that just don't seem to logically make sense. Thats when you realize how your heart has a soul of its own and no matter how hard your brain tries, it'll never even get close to understanding the ways of the heart. <div>It is the heart that feels at peace when you lay in the arms of someone and it is the same heart that hurts when you have to leave them, even if its just for a while. Sure, the brain justifies it by trying to fit it into a fixed frame that the society has created for relationships, but in your heart, you know that none of them mean that. </div><div><br /></div><div>When someone breaks your heart, you feel unbelievable pain that you think you can never get through. Your brain gets into hyper action mode and starts building all these walls around your heart and starts making false promises of never letting anyone beyond those walls. </div><div><br /></div><div>But its all pointless.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because when things are right, the heart always soars beyond the walls and does what it wants to without giving the consequences even the slightest thought. The brain just watches helplessly and starts predicting the hurt and the pain, and goes on and on about how this is the millionth time that the same mistake is being repeated. </div><div><br /></div><div>But tonight, its time for me heart to just be. No judgement from the brain, no predictions, no dwelling on consequences. No ANYTHING. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just my heart being happy. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-66848953907154606922011-10-23T05:24:00.000-07:002011-10-23T05:35:23.391-07:00I'm long goneI didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be pulled out of my comfort zone and thrown to the far end. I was just fine without you in my life. I was fine doing what I thought was right. <div><br /></div><div>And then everything I've known all my life turns out to be a lie. I feel like I'm floating in the deep ocean with absolutely nothing to hang onto. I have no idea which way I should go because I can't see land anywhere. </div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't want to have emotions raging a war in me this soon. I didn't want you. I didn't want you to hold me that night. I didn't want you to let my hair down. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't even know you and you've already managed to start a war of emotions that I'm losing. I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to feel the familiar pains of love. No, I didn't want any of that. </div><div><br /></div><div>I thought when I did finally let my heart go, I would be strong enough. I didn't want it snatched away and then thrown back to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now I feel stupid. I feel weak. I feel sick in the stomach. I feel everything that I promised myself I would never feel because I thought I was better than that. </div><div><br /></div><div>But you proved to me that I'm not. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-58364745804723751692011-10-06T08:52:00.000-07:002011-10-06T08:59:57.359-07:00One of those daysIts one of those days.<div><br /></div><div>One of those days when you realize that every night, you come back to an empty house.</div><div>One of days when you're walking back home and all the songs on shuffle seem to be about loneliness and heartbreak.</div><div>One of those days when you wish you had someone's arms to cuddle in after a long day at work.</div><div>One of those days when it seems like that heartbreak happened just yesterday.</div><div>One of those days when you see a cute couple and you can't help but wonder what it would be like to have that with someone.</div><div>One of those days where nothing you do seems to make too much sense.</div><div>One of those days when you just want to lie in bed and have a dream-less sleep.</div><div>One of those days where you're smiling at everyone and making conversation but it all feels out of place.</div><div><br /></div><div>Its one of days that will pass. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow I'll wake up and today will be a thing of the past, maybe even forgotten. </div><div><br /></div><div>But for now, its still just one of those days. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-37452650333201011402011-09-24T05:25:00.000-07:002011-09-24T05:47:39.794-07:00If you could see me right now<div>This is for my grandfather who passed away a few weeks back. If you're around, I hope you're reading every word. </div><div><br /></div>I don't remember you. All my memories of you are just flashes of your face and phrases of the many things you've said to me. I'm trying so hard to remember every single moment we spent together but I can't. I just can't. My mind goes blank when I think about you. <div><br /></div><div>When you went away, I told myself how it was bound to happen. I told myself that it was best for you and that you were put out of your suffering. I told myself that it was a good thing I wasn't around because I couldn't have handled the way you suffered before you left. </div><div><br /></div><div>Everyone around me told me to be strong and told me that you're in a better place. They spent hours talking about how beautiful your life was and what an amazing person you were. They told me stories of you as a child and told me every happy moment in your life that they remembered.</div><div><br /></div><div>I spent hours looking at photographs of you - I kept trying to recollect every memory of yours that I had stored away - but I couldn't. After a while, those pictures said nothing to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hardly cried when you left. Things surprisingly went back to normal very quickly. My world didn't stop turning and nothing felt different. I didn't feel incomplete - It felt like you'd left a long time ago . </div><div><br /></div><div>I felt so normal that I started feeling guilty that I wasn't crying. I had no clue why I couldn't cry. I felt guilty at the way I went on with my life like nothing happened. </div><div><br /></div><div>But tonight, as I'm writing this, I want you to know that I would give anything in the world to hear you call me name. I would sacrifice everything I have just to hear you yell out from the kitchen when someone tried to get you to eat. I would give anything to walk into your room and see you lying on your bed, half asleep. I would give anything to be able to yell at you when you tried walking away on your own. I would give anything to be able to coax you and feed you again. I would give anything to hear you whine in your sleep. I would give anything just to see the way your face would light up at the thought of sweets. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was so much I left unsaid and now its too late to say anything at all. I want you to know that I love you - even if I didn't show it much in the last two years. I didn't mean to stay locked up in my room most of the time - it was only because seeing you being ill was too hard for me. I wanted your good days to stay in my memory and not your bad ones. Im so sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn't love you. I'm so sorry if you ever thought that you were being a trouble to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even when you were suffering in pain and I spent the night taking care of you, you looked up at me and said "You poor thing, because of me you have to go through so much trouble." </div><div><br /></div><div>You always thought of me. And tonight, I can't stop thinking about you. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sorry - please know that I'll always love you. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-92202976891766028562011-09-22T22:55:00.000-07:002011-09-22T23:23:18.194-07:00Moments of oblivionThe book slipped from her hand and dropped to the floor as she fell asleep. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Her soft breaths muffled the silence in her apartment. Water trickled, one drop at a time at the far end of the room. The ticking of the clock sounded louder than it was meant to be. </div><div>Someone was playing the piano a few floors below while someone else paced up and down on the floor above. The couple that lived next door were arguing over dinner and the voices drifted into her room. </div><div>If one listened closely enough, the rustling of the leaves on the trees down below characterized the wind. A dog whined as it nursed a wound. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The pages of her book ruffled as it lay on the floor. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But she dwelled in oblivion. </div><div><br /></div><div>She couldn't hear any of it, not ever her soft breaths. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-83521241370401963572011-09-04T08:03:00.000-07:002011-09-04T09:13:28.544-07:00Lamp posts and giftsMaturity comes when you learn to accept loss. <div>
<br /></div><div>She sat and looked across the lake. The crickets were specially loud that night. The chattering of people on the other side floated through the air. The humid wind blew across her face. A tiny frog hopped into the water. She leaned against a lamp post and took a deep long breath. She smiled to herself as she heard laughter from the other end. </div><div>Memories of conversations that lasted entire nights, tears that were shed, jokes that were cracked, dreams that were built - they all came back to her. This had been their spot. A place they called their own. Some of her best times was under the lamp post, overlooking the lake and the entire city. </div><div>Tonight, she was there alone. Everything was exactly the way it had always been - but he wasn't there. Her heart tugged but there were no tears. There was no pain, no hurt, no sorrow. Instead, there was joy as she thought about the good times, there was peace as she thought about conversations that taught her to be who she was today, there was love as she thought about the times they spent in silence and there was warmth when she thought about everything he'd taught her. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>The next morning would come and she'd wake up like everyday and go on with her life without him. But it no longer made her sad. Because she knew that what he'd left behind was what made her who she was today. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>She was his farewell gift to her. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-28645021583169325262011-08-06T08:39:00.000-07:002011-08-06T08:50:14.902-07:00Behind the maskMasks. <div><br /></div><div>Big colorful ones. Tiny demure ones. Sexy intriguing ones. Dark enveloping ones.</div><div><br /></div><div>What happens when they come off? Who is that person behind it?</div><div><br /></div><div>All my life, I've walked around thinking that masks are for cowards. For those who don't have the courage to let the people around see them for who they are. I kept letting people se through me. I made excuses for them when they hurt me. "Atleast I let them see the real me", I'd think. </div><div><br /></div><div>The scars and the blows got bigger, my excuses got weaker. I tried, I swear I did - I hoped against hope that it'll all be okay. But it just got worse. </div><div><br /></div><div>Till one day, a single blow brought me hurtling down. The excuses vanished and I just lay there, gasping for breath. Everything fell to pieces. It hurt so much that I stopped feeling it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Zilch.</div><div><br /></div><div>I stopped feeling the hurt. I just felt faintly bitter but I knew that if I had to survive, it would only be with a mask. </div><div><br /></div><div>So here's my mask - one thats made of spunk, joy, being carefree - one that hides my vulnerability, stops me from telling someone what I feel, one that makes me feel powerful and strong when I'm behind it.</div><div><br /></div><div>But tonight, its just me. No mask. No walls. Nothing to protect me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just me.</div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-30662077071927122022011-08-01T23:18:00.000-07:002011-08-01T23:26:36.344-07:00LullabyI can feel my layers get ripped out. The pain of the present make the past dull. I miss who I was but I'm forced to change, to "grow up", they say. No place for emotions or feelings; just the cold wind whistling in through the window. <div><br /></div><div>I want it to be refreshing but it just leaves me with goosebumps. I tell myself that change is good, change is the only constant - my bitterness will do good for me and one day, there will be someone who will make it all go away. But that someone might never turn up. After all, it is time to grow up isn't it? </div><div><br /></div><div>Believing in something and hoping for it was what I grew up doing. I got hurt over and over but I never gave up. Today, after all those sleepless tearful nights, all those consoling talks with best friends, all that time I spent nursing my broken heart thinking there will be someone who'll make it all better - I give up. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because at the end of the day, you're all you've got. You are the only one who can fix that heart. You are the only one who can wipe the tears away. When it gets cold at night, you're the only one who can get warm. There is no "someone". </div><div><br /></div><div>Its just you and the world. </div><div><br /></div><div>And its finally time to accept it. </div><div><br /></div><div>So lay your head on the pillow and sing yourself a lullaby. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-80267881840982616832011-07-17T02:27:00.000-07:002011-07-17T02:33:55.438-07:00Home<span class="Apple-style-span" >New place. New people. New city. New country. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Nobody knows who i am. Nobody knows my past. Nobody knows whats going on in my head. They don't even know what the expressions on my face mean. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I can be whoever I want to be. I'm torn between who I was and who I want to suddenly be. I fear falling into the same patterns with new people. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >A stupid mistake and my cover gets blown. I can't be someone else - Reinventing myself isn't as easy as I thought it was. I'm just back to being my old self - the same thoughts, same dialogues, same tears, same expectations. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Are the people really new then? Is the place really new? Does it matter if the country is different?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I feel the same way I used to back "home". </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Only, now I feel it 2500 miles away. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-52117783491080977302011-06-03T08:50:00.001-07:002011-06-03T09:14:26.252-07:00FavouritesThe feeling of having the cold wind whip across your face....<br />The way a cup of coffee warms you up on a rainy day...<br />Having a friend hug you and making you feel like it'll be okay...<br />Sharing a smile with a stranger on the bus...<br /><div>Having your dog sit beside you and cuddle while you cry your heart out....</div><div>Drowning the pain in a scalding hot shower....</div><div>Singing loudly in the bathroom....</div><div>Resting your head on someone's shoulder....</div><div>Looking into someone's eyes and failing to hide your emotions....</div><div>Listening to someone tell you how proud they are of you...</div><div>Making someone else laugh...</div><div>Cycling in the rain...</div><div>Day dreaming at work...</div><div>Playing mind numbing games online...</div><div>Staying up on the phone talking to someone you thought you'd lost....</div><div>Using your old crayons to colour a rainbow....</div><div>Handling the biggest challenges with your head straight ahead....</div><div>Manage to get up and pull yourself together after being knocked down the hill...</div><div>Singing to someone and have them sit speechless when you're done...</div><div>Listen to the person you love tell you how they love you...</div><div>Eating a big meal to make yourself feel better...</div><div>Having someone to call in the middle of the night...</div><div>Dancing in the first shower of May...</div><div>Missing someone so much that your throat dries up and your heart tugs when you think of them..</div><div><br /></div><div>And these are a few of my favourite things.</div><div><br /></div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-33152817664666396502011-05-18T22:34:00.000-07:002011-05-18T22:43:34.505-07:00ExceptionsThe sun sets and the sky turns a deep shade of pink. The birds fly over my head, heading to a place they call home. There's a light breeze teasing the loose strands of hair across my face. The moon's getting brighter by the second. <div>I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. The tears have dried, the wounds are bandaged, and my heart's finally beating again. The pain's almost gone - it's just a dull reminder now. Everything that used to be doesn't matter anymore. My dreams of an "us" is now a distant memory. </div><div>I even manage a tiny smile. </div><div><br /></div><div>Some people end up with the ones they fall in love with. But some don't. We can't all be the exception. Not everyone's life becomes a love story. Some of them are meant to last while others fade away. Heart breaks are more common than I thought they were. And for once, I'm average too. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not the exception. We are two different people with two different stories. Mine's just not happened yet. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-77319727425033824082011-05-06T11:30:00.000-07:002011-05-06T11:40:32.747-07:00"Us"I lay in bed with my eyes wide open. <div><br /></div><div>I can't sleep because you seem to have made yourself a priority in my head.</div><div><br /></div><div>Things you said, your expressions, our fights, our conversations, the way you looked at me, the way you smell, the way your hair feels - they all stroll across my mind. </div><div><br /></div><div>I turn to my side, desperate to change what I'm thinking about. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I have no luck. You're still on my mind. Your I-love-you texts flash across my eyes. </div><div><br /></div><div>I miss you. I miss the comfort we shared. Maybe I screwed up by telling you that I was in love with you - and now, I regret it every minute of everyday. </div><div><br /></div><div>I lay on my back and sigh. I think of the Saturday morning conversations, the times when we had conversations with our eyes, the secret texts, the concerned phone calls. </div><div><br /></div><div>And then the tears start. The big lump in my throat melts and the tears fall, staining my pillow. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't want the apartment with yellow bathroom tiles. I don't want twin babies. I don't want arguments over dinner. I don't want to ride behind you in your bike as you drop me off to work every morning. I don't even want to wake up every morning to see your face. I don't want you to make me tea. </div><div><br /></div><div>I want you to make pervy jokes in an attempt to disgust me. I want you to put your arm around me just so that no one else does. I want you to send me random I-love-you texts. I want you to call me on Saturday morning and discuss morning hormonal changes. I want you to tell me how you'll kick any guy who tries to get close to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I want you back. I want us back. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-25161047913215953772011-04-04T09:21:00.000-07:002011-04-04T09:36:27.594-07:00Till death do us apart<div style="text-align: justify;">She sat on the edge of her bed and let the tears fall. They were hot with fury as they rolled down her cheeks. She crushed the sheet of paper she was holding. She just couldn't take it anymore. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">She flung the crushed piece of paper across the room and slipped onto the floor, wailing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She was so sick of it. So disgusted; so exhausted.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">All she wanted to do was to hide somewhere, shake off all her worldly responsibilities and take time to heal her broken heart. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">She was tired of always having to make the first move. She was tired of the guys who chatted her up, only to tell her later that they had girlfriends. She was tired of hoping and wishing that there will be that one guy who will make it all better - that guy was too busy making someone else's life better. She was tired of waiting to be noticed. She was so sick of it all that even her tears didn't make anything better. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">She curled up on the floor and weeped. She cried for all the times she was made a fool; she cried for every time she believed in a guy. She cried for every single memory that was etched in her heart. She cried for her hopelessness - her shattered beliefs. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As she cried, a part of her died and got washed away in those tears. The memories flashed across her eyes, putting her into a daze. She let all her pain, embarrassment, sorrow, hurt, rejection and wounds pass through her. She felt every emotion intensely - she writhed uncontrollably. </div><div style="text-align: justify;">She was done with this. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And as she lied there, limp and exhausted, she felt hollow and empty - incapable of trust or emotion from now on. </div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5932035416927956943.post-3783886321419999752011-03-20T05:55:00.000-07:002011-03-20T06:21:18.157-07:00L.O.V.E.Love.<div><br /></div><div>Something that I believed would be my "nirvana". Love, one word that can make anyone smile. It made me smile. I thought being in love was the best feeling in the world. For a brief period, maybe it even was. </div><div><br /></div><div>I associated love with endless hours of silly grinning, whispering on the phone in the middle of the night, typing out little black hearts at the end of every sentence, having a "perfect" picture framed on your table, long walks, electrifying kisses and the most exclusive hugs you can get in a lifetime. </div><div><br /></div><div>You're probably thinking how naive all that sounds. Well, if you aren't, then I definitely am. </div><div> </div><div>I grew up a little, got into a relationship. The meaning of love changed. Love meant endless hours of talk on the phone, honesty, the meaning of forever, dinner at a cozy place, talks about life, sharing our deepest darkest secrets, a relationship without judgement, laying in each others' arms through the night, heated arguments that ended with I-love-you's, hugs that froze the world around you and kisses that made you feel like you belonged.</div><div><br /></div><div>But that passed too. The same "love" that I had given so much meaning to, left me broken hearted, lonely and desperately searching for the scattered pieces of my life. </div><div><br /></div><div>I grew up a little more, shook off every bit of naiveness I had in me and looked straight ahead. </div><div>I started questioning the very basic associations I made with the word "love". </div><div><br /></div><div>The little black hearts, the whispering on the phone, the love songs, the perfect hugs, the dinner dates, the kisses - they all went out the window. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead, hurt, rejection, caution, tear stained pillows, bars of chocolate, heart-break songs, disbelief and dismissive thoughts moved in. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I was younger, I faced rejection from a boy who sat two seats ahead of me in class and spoke to me only when he wanted me to help him out with his artwork. I was hurt, but my heart still believed that love was wonderful. </div><div>I faced rejection again from a boy who would sing to me on the phone because I loved his voice so much. I still believed in the existence of a happy ending. </div><div>The boy who became my best friend and had me by his side the whole time rejected me too. My belief flickered, my heart cracked but I still believed.</div><div><br /></div><div>The boy I thought I would spend forever with, changed. Endless nights of yelling and crying resulted in a broken relationship. It also resulted in a shattered heart and a belief that had seized to exist. </div><div><br /></div><div>So here I am today, one year later - still trying to figure what I think love is. Hurt or joy? Acceptance or rejection? Security or false hopes? Little black hearts or the shattered one I'm nursing?</div><div><br /></div><div>What is it? What is Love?</div><div><br /></div>Purvaahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13435609164459637260noreply@blogger.com15