don't bother.

16^th April, 2016.

A thousand thoughts are spinning at a speed of light in my head. Every decision I ever took until this moment are being retraced. When I say every, I mean the major ones, the ones that matters, the ones which made a difference for the better or the worse.

I am waiting for a text. I don’t know exactly from whom and I do not know what it might say. I am just waiting as yesterday seems so far and distant. Like it never happened. Or I am just suffering from the amnesia I think I have.  

Lately, my rants have become more self pitying and apologetic. Something I do not do naturally. The rants are becoming something I mocked about to a friend who had a penchant for writing like this. I mocked him because I thought he was being stupid and hopeless, but now I see why. He wasn’t being stupid, he was suffering. It was pain, although I know he might say otherwise. It was him, venting out the confusion. It is me venting out my confusion. And I know my confusions, they are lethal. I know after this, I will go back to sleep but I will get insomnia and I will be tossing sides.

I am confused because I do not know what did I do? I seriously cannot put my finger on it, I cannot pin it down to certainty. All I can do is assume something but even the assumption seems illogical. The train of thought derails and what you are left with is a meaningless presumption and hope. I know my hopes are meaningless. But I carry on hoping. I know something is amiss but I don’t know how to outrun the feeling. The songs are either very clear or are just loud music.

I just want an answer. Why? Why is it always me? Why not someone who might deserve it? Is it because that I care too much? Is it because I put myself at the end and put everyone I love at front, thinking that they deserve better? Is it because I have lost so many that the few are always on a verge to make me beg? Is it?  I cannot turn to stone, I tried and it made me inhuman. I was being better but again, I try to come out, I get dragged back.

Someday I will snap. I know. Someday will be the worst day and I will lose my last bit of composure. It will be bad.

  

I wish it was easy to leave. I wish.

Accustomed.

Accustomed.

It wasn’t pain when she left.

when denial was her choice

and lies were convenience.

It wasn’t pain when she left,

because the heart wasn’t there

to feel it. Or so I thought.

But it pains now,

when you say it isn’t true.

It pains as you break me to pieces,

to smithereens.

I saw my heart beating and

it pains a lot.

But what can I do?

You know I am accustomed.

Monologues and Melancholy.

13^th April, 2016.

The taste of menthol rush fused the breath I let out in a melancholic exhalation. It tastes good, cool and minty. Irony is, good and melancholy never works together, not until you are hell bent on making it work. At times like this, I tend to distract myself. I go back to Neil Gaiman and Alan Moore. I tend to read the monologues and dialogues as I feel a sound of a crash inside, something broke. Almost a déjà vu.  Almost, because it is not the same, ever.

“All it takes is just one day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That’s how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day.” – Alan Moore.

“Memories can be vile. Repulsive little brutes, like children I suppose. But can we live without them? Memories are what our reason is based upon. If we can’t face them, we deny reason itself! Although, why not? We aren’t contractually tied down to rationality. There is no sanity clause. So when you find yourself locked down in an unpleasant train of thought, heading for the places in your past where the screaming is unbearable, remember: There’s always madness. You can just step outside and close the door, and all those dreadful things that happened, you can lock them away. Madness…is like an emergency exit.” – Alan Moore.

“Memory is the great deceiver. Perhaps there are some individuals whose memories act like tape recordings, daily records of their lives complete in every detail, but I am not one of them. My memory is a patchwork of occurrences, of discontinuous events roughly sewn together: The parts I remember, I remember precisely, whilst other sections seemed to have vanished completely.” – Neil Gaiman.

The burning end of the cigarette comes dangerously close to the filter, I burn my fingers. I still can hear the music going on in the feast, trying to visualize the apparel of the social fabric they all are trying to wear. I look at myself again, trying to think, where did I go wrong? The answer eludes me. It always does. The sound of the crash inside grew large, deafening at a point of time. The cigarette dies and as a last attempt, I drag a huge one and exhale slowly, looking at the grey smoke leaving in the sky of Kashmere gate.

Melancholy stays awake, somewhere inside my head, somewhere locked away and it came out in a moment. I feel alone, or I am alone, I don’t know. I am invisible, that I can be assured of. The ghost in the memories maybe. The party goes on and I left them quietly. They never noticed, they never will. and those points, memories barge in, so does the anomaly, like a paradox. I start to laugh, uncontrollably. Madness creep inside like a  parasite. I want to scream out, but all I can muster is a laugh, a denial towards everything that went wrong. The joke was on me. When you figure out the joke, you will laugh, even at the face of utmost despair.

Figure it out, you will laugh too!