As a young girl,
who wore her heart
on her sleeves,
I’ve placed
trust in every
palm that
was held before me.

I drove out, given, taken
laughter where it suited.

My dreams were stories
I openly told people
who would lend me their ears.
In return, they treated them
as if they were gifts
they were too eager
to receive.

The questions I had
were met with answers
as if my life and theirs
depended on them.

The thrill of growing up
and knowing my words
could pull people
like magnets was a gift
I took for granted.

I discovered that words,
that left the tongue,
and fell on ears
and caught by eyes,
was like a daisy,
plucked from the roots,
never to bloom again
from the earth,
but would forever
seek residence
in the heart and
foster in the mind.

I found that words
could be both –
the reddest of roses
and sharpest of thorns.

Slowly, unknowingly,
the sleeves of my shirts grew longer.
Open and willing palms turned into
clenched fists.
laughter was unlike the oxygen
I breathed.
it was a rare stone,
worked hard for,
slaved over,
only to find out,
on occasion that
they were fake.

(I doled out laughter and smiles
as if I had them in abundance
to get me in and out of
situations that suited me.)

I didn’t know.
I was already a player
in the game of pretend
they called ‘adulthood’,
which I thought was a myth,
but all too well,
discovered, bruised,
burnt, that no one plays
this game willingly,
but we’re thrust upon it,
pretending to know the rules
from the get-go.

no wonder when I was a child,
the adults craved
the company of the naive girl.
realization struck me –
the innocence of a child,
is unlike the innocence
of an adult.
the innocence of a grown up,
is a weapon of destruction,
whereas to a child,
it is a shield of comfort.
It is endless possibility and hope
until it is broken down
by messy hands
and clumsy tongues.
but rebuilt with the will
and strength formed from
years of falling down.

there’s an innocence to holding hands.
that first brush of the tip of his fingers
against my palm.
the way they glide across it,
aiming for the gaps.
the way his fingers curl,
almost hesitantly,
as if i am delicate,
as if holding me too tightly
will break me.
because he knows,
between us,
holding hands will never be just
about hands touching.
so gently, he continues.
fingers clasping.
breath held.

so much for innocence
and the promise of more to come.

Tomorrow

Today, I close a chapter of my life hinged to you.
Tomorrow, you start a new chapter of your life unhinged from mine completely.

Today, I ask myself for the nth time – Are you okay?
Tomorrow, tomorrow I will be.

Today, I listen to the same song I played to death 6 years ago.
Tomorrow, I will listen to it again and mean it.

Today, let me keep this day, let it be mine, yours, ours.
Tomorrow, it will be mine alone.

Today, let me remember everything good.
Tomorrow, let me forget everything good.

Today, everything I can be, I can do, I can say, let me say they were for you.
Tomorrow, everything I can be, I can do, I can say, will be for someone who isn’t you.

Today, I will remember the night I was enchanted to meet you.
Tomorrow, I will forget everything you made me feel.

Today, is as monumental for me, as tomorrow will be for you.

So, cheers for me today, and cheers tomorrow, for you.

Yes, you are more than what is wrapped in skin, you are a moving, living prose. Stories of hello’s and farewell’s, of laughter and mischief. Never settle into being just bones, and flesh, and skin, and blood.Drive yourself mad with love and dive into the insanity of the world.