Tag Archives: Break-up
Love has left the building.
What’s more, it left without paying the rent.
Don’t bother chasing though,
I know where it went.
Off to confuse another life
And mess up someone else’s score
And to shake up things for
Anyone who dares think that life is such a bore.
And since it is such divine entertainment
Methinks love shouldn’t be,
Charged for living in one’s heart
But enjoyed for as long as can be.
I’m going to hold onto that thought
And shrug and laugh at my fall
After all, when it’s all cleared out & done
What else can one do, after all?
crumble to dust
And mix with the debris
or next week
No one will even remember
A life was built here
And tiny victories won
Till a final storm
Blew it all to dust
Before long though,
These shattered, scattered remains
Will mix with the dust
And be the stuff of another dream
And who knows if that may stand
What this one didn’t?
Two missed calls,
The first unwelcome, the second uncalled for,
An email, anticipated but that I hoped wouldn’t come,
A statement out of context, ill-timed.
Surprises, like land-mines, litter my day.
I thought I’d die if I didn’t have you
And I very nearly threw away my life when you asked me to
Just about but not quite
Because in the last minute, some shred of something pulled me back
What was it?
Self-preservation? Self-respect? Dignity? Sensibility?
You called it selfishness
I’m so glad that I’m a selfish person
It saved my life
That I loved me more than I loved you.
A relationship is a function of caring
Not of meetings and conversations; time spent nor other people.
If we never met again, never spoke again, never ever saw each other again
If our lives never touched again, it wouldn’t make a difference
Because we have happened to each other already and nothing can change that
Her monotone, drained of exasperation, drawled
I can’t handle this anymore. I think we should stop talking. No more games.
A week later, much tempted, she thought
I didn’t say I wouldn’t call him though, did I?
Then she sighed and reminded herself that word solitaire was a game too.
I want you to leave me alone. Thus far, I’ve tried to NEVER tell you what to do. But now I am and I hope this is the last thing I ever ask you. Perhaps the last thing I ever say to you.
I am not deleting your number from my phone because now I know I can live without calling you. However it stays so that I know when you’re calling and can decide to not take it. Yes, I’m not deleting you, YOU are going to take my number off your phone.
I don’t have a place in your life and hence you don’t get to have one in mine either. No part of my life or my time or my attention. Enough said, enough done, enough felt. You disturb my equilibrium and for once in my life I am not seeking chaos.
You know who you are, so goodbye and have a good life.
We loves words. And we are deeply attached to those with whom we can have good conversations with. In fact we are more attached to the conversations than to the people themselves. And we dutifully blog some of our memorable conversations here and here. Since there are so many of them, we will henceforth post them on Alternate Idea. So please look in there if you ever want to know what we is talking about (and listening to) in the real world.
Some of our blog-friends are in Mumbai this month notably Srini and Apoorva (among others…we is not yet sure whether they wants the news announced). Some is leaving town soon like Gera. And we would love to meet some again. So hands up, everyone who’s nterested in a blog-meet!
Disclaimer: We has never organised a blog-meet and while we has done this kind of a thing in the real world before we is a little reluctant for several reasons, to take the lead here. So do we have any volunteers?
I am eating a warm waffle streaked with chocolate sauce and dripping with melting chocolate ice-cream. I am reading Milan Kundera’s ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being‘. When I’m reading a book, one by a powerful writer, I find I’m relating my life to the characters in the story, seeing myself in the story and the story in my life.
The last but one time I saw him, I spent the night at his place. Wrapped inside of him, I murmured “I love you”. Just loud enough that he might hear it and soft enough that he might be able to pretend he didn’t. And then I fell asleep into a fitful, dreamless sleep.
I woke up to the sun caressing my face, just like it does in my room. And then suddenly I just wanted to be somewhere else. Didn’t want to hold him or make love to him, like I’ve wanted to nearly every time I saw him. I just wanted to be back in my room, stretching alone. Still, I stayed. And actually prolonged the morning till he gently sent me off so he could get to work. I didn’t want to see him again that day. Or the next. I didn’t know whether to feel good or not that we didn’t meet. So I just ended it.
I’ve spent the week alternating between feeling miserable and absolutely giddy-headed. There have been moments I absolutely crave his company, in a way I didn’t before we parted ways. And then suddenly it passes and I wonder if that was me feeling that way or something momentarily possessed me. I am insanely jealous of people who see him. And simultaneously I’m glad I’m not one of them.
Hmm. I don’t know either…. whether to call it love or hysteria.
On a more frivolous note, I got a new haircut! This is the first thing I recommend for break-ups. Not chopping off your locks per se, but a change of image. It is soul-cleansing, a break in routine, a change in the way you see yourself. And what’s more, a haircut is a philosophical metaphor….right from the cliched Here today, gone tomorrow to the very emotional experience (at least for a woman) of instantly cutting off that dead-but-very-much-cherished part of your anatomy that so much defines you….your mane.
I think it makes me look younger, 23 perhaps. Which reminds me, on my second date at Mocha, while I was waiting for him, a tee-shirt clad young thing approached me and asked me
“Would you like to participate in a model hunt?”
I smiled politely and said that modelling really wasn’t my cup of tea.
“But you can try it once” she persisted.
I looked at her wondering how to politely tell her that I thought it was disgraceful and degrading for me to be a clothes-horse, especially for someone else’s creations, not to mention parade my body around like it was the only thing I was good for. Then I spotted a loophole and asked her,
“Don’t these things have some kind of age limit?”
“Uh, yeahhh…” she paused and looked down at her clipboard.
“Participants must be under 22 years of age.” she pronounced.
I beamed at her unintended, implied compliment and said,
“There then. I’m 27.”
Hee hee hee. I can be moved by the writings of a Franco-Czech novelist but my vanity is as solid as Barbie doll’s.