Thoughts From A Spinning World

He asked her to hold him tonight. She was relieved to know that he was human too, a refreshing change from his coldness.

It occurred to her much later that he had shattered before she had.


She stopped loving him that instant.

she strolls on the beach, languidly. the sand is diamond patterned. languidly, isn't it a glorious word, rolling off your tongue?

the letter to god was written unhurriedly, detached from the world around her. the anger goes away with each deliberate step.


the music calms her spirit, the waves surprise her.

and she laughs at herself and for the first time in a year, she is happy.

'I want to be happy again, I want to smile when I wake up in the morning'. I stub the cigarette out angrily.

'No'.

'What? Why?' I'm always confused when we talk, his riddles are leap years beyond my level of comprehension.

'Look around you. Do you think you'll ever be happy? You need to have that chaos within you, that will drive you to not accept things as they are, that will let you make a change. The reason you're unhappy is because you see all these all night orgies around you, the shallowness and you can't stand the hypocrisy'. He looks like a statesman as he speaks, hands cutting through the wisps of smoke in the still air. I can see him delivering thundering speeches in the parliament, amidst hundreds of shocked faces.

'Fuck'.

'I know'.

'I'd rather live in a bubble'.

'Someone will burst it sooner or later'.

Then he smiles, and the sadness in his smile makes every catastrophe I've ever faced pale in comparision. I hug him, and close the door of his executive room in the hotel.

i have realized
[in exactly 6 days, 23 hours and 10 minutes]
that i could easily fall for you.

pms and random e-mails are excuses

i'm really scared.

he traced patterns on my palm last night.

happiness, my love, is pulses fluttering in rhythm.

She dreamt last night.

Of a dim lit hospital and cracked floors, machines that go beep and tubelights that gave off green lights. She saw her mother in the hospital, sick, wires and tubes everywhere. Days became weeks and then a month. A doctor in white, with a mean mouth tells her to stop hoping.

She clutched her sister and cried and shuddered and whispered over and over to herself.

Then she wakes up.

With a feeling of overwhelming sadness that her life will never be the same again.

And tells herself: your mother's already dead.

She goes back to sleep.

i love the way
the smell of you
makes a warm nest
in the curl of my hair

i never want to use shampoo.