The abyss.

Darkness doesn't have a heart. Neither does it have a centre. It is like a bottomless pit without any hint of what it contains. Of all the phenomena in this mortal world, darkness is the most unfathomable. We are all dark inside. Atleast a part of us is. We venture out, looking for someone to eradicate, if not whole, atleast a part of this darkness in us. But often, even when we find someone willing to share our darkness, indulge us and love us the way we are, the darkness inside us rears its ugly head & fills our heart with doubts & questions we'd never ask otherwise. Gullible, that we are, we pay heed to these vile thoughts & discarding all that we initially felt, tightly wind up ourselves inside our shell. It's not that we don't want to be pulled out but we never really give anyone a chance to do so. And then we crib about how no one cares.

Like I'm doing now. Damn! This wasn't supposed to get personal.

I'm stuck in this abyss. Waiting for you to extend an arm. For me to grab. So that you can pull me out. Into the safety of your arms. Into the warmth of your love.

Love, maybe? Punishment, yes!

Yes. I've been stupid. Again. Duped. Again. Of course you still love her. I was just a healthy distraction. Just one more among the many others. Why didn't I see it? Because I didn't want to. Because I wanted more. More than we had decided. More than you had bargained for. You might have seemed like my white knight but your armour doesn't shine. It is rusty. Of old promises. Of memories. Your memories. I may have moved ahead but you got me stranded again. Back to square one. Ha! I'm such a fool. Such a fool. And you know what's worse? You shall come back for more. And I shall embrace you. Welcome you back. Because you see, I love you. And love is sickening. It is revolting. And yet love drives us. All of us. Your love for her. My love for him. And now, my love for you. All so sickening.

If.

If it were my world,

The sun would never rise.

It would always be cold and dark;

A world where time wouldn't fly.

If it were my world,

Stars would twinkle all the time.

The moon shining bright;

Looking like a perfect dime.

If it were my world,

Lovers wouldn't exist.

It would be devoid of pain and pleasure;

A place where passion people can resist.

But it is not so, yes the world's not mine.

Still I hope it would be; with the passing time.

Life as I see it.

Yes, the titles of my posts are usually as boring, stupid & completely irrelevant to the actual post as this one is. Obviously one cannot expect me to write about my perception of life in a mere blog post, right?

Anyway, before I completely forget about what I was going to blog about and veer off to another direction, let me begin. So, ah! Life. As I see it. Let me rewind to May 2010. I was young (er) and carefree (Yeah, I still am) not to mention a lot less stupid. Yes, I like to praise my past self, you know.

Due to inexplicable reason, I decided to veer away from science and go for English Literature for my graduation. No, I'm not about to rant on how I hate my course and teachers (which I do) nor will I be describing my favourite piece of fiction.
Today, I'm lamenting. Not my decision, but Literature. You see, two years down this course, I have, lately, begun to not only detest society but also resent art. In all forms. Yes, you read that right. I detest art now. Literature destroyed not only my ability of enjoying a piece of prose or poetry without delving into its layers, but also made me aware of how stupid humanity and our human concern about every little thing is. Also, remember, unless & until you have a super active libido and a promiscuous nature, you cannot be a man or woman of Literature.
After reading my post again, I sigh. I've been rambling again. And the literary side of me observes me, with cynical detachment. She points and laughs. We are all a part of this reality.
Yet, she chooses to be detached. Despite being a part of her, I fail. I desperately hold on to my remaining innocence. She moves ahead. I sulk. Alone, yet not quite. My detached self attached to me. Bone by bone.

The wrinkled memory.

He would always have a smile on his old wrinkled face while handing me the menu and we would share a smile, almost conspirational. At times, he'd even help me decide my order & at times, he'd ask me how my day was. We shared a special bond, this waiter and I.

And then, one not-so-fine day, he just wasn't there. I shooed away atleast 3 other waiters, hoping for my friend to turn up, in vain. There was no smiling wrinkles, no secret smirk and no one to ask me if I thought the coffee was too hot.

However, I still visit, hoping to see him just one more day, just one more time, to tell him that despite his tiny role in my life, he meant something. The old friend of mine.
You may ask why wouldn't I ask his co-workers about him and I'd tell you, I am too scared to know the answer.