Love

Dear Childhood Sweetheart,

I miss you so damn hard today.

Remember how we used to be? Remember how our relationship, our friendship, could so easily be described by that shared ice cream bar when we were five? It used to be simple and perfect with you. The only expectation I had from you was that you push my swing every day and you did. Every single day without complaint.

Why can’t it be like that now? Why can’t love be as easy as you and I used to be? How did it get so complicated? Expectations, complaints, lies, manipulation… It’s all a bloody mess. And none of it feels real enough. It doesn’t feel like how you and I used to feel.

If only people could be as innocent as five year old children, it would be so much safer to fall in love. But right now, they terrify me with their masked intentions. They make me run away as fast as I can.

And sometimes I wonder how you and I would have turned out to be if we’d stuck together all these years. Would our relationship have held? Could it have stayed as pure and fun as it used to be? Probably not. Even we aren’t that lucky. Surely growing up would’ve screwed us over. Perhaps it was for the best, then, that you disappeared. At least I get to have one perfect memory of love. It’s enough to make me keep trying to find something real.

And who knows? Maybe I’ll find you again and life can be simple again. Just like five years old?

With love,

Your Silly Little Ex-Girlfriend.

 

Instagram handle: A Writer’s Cauldron

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Things That Are Real

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Five Years Old

 

  • The green umbrella we shared that July evening when neither of our mothers were watching. The way you held my hand – your fingers wrapped so tightly around my own.

 

  • Your anger when that other boy pushed me off my bike on accident. The rainbow in the sky and your hand placed protectively under my scraped knee as I cried on the pavement.

 

  • The house we built from chairs and blankets and toys in the veranda. The dolls I cradled in my arms like our babies and the clay bread I served you with a smile when you came home from work.

 

  • The day you pulled me against your chest to show me how my head barely reached your nose. Your steady breath on my forehead and my foot making circles in the dirt beside your toes.

 

  • Your wet, trembling lips against my warm cheek and the thundering of my heart in my chest. A curious parrot watching and my mother calling me for dinner from far, far away.

 

  • The last hug we shared and my promise to call before getting into the car. And the little strip of paper with your number that I lost long before I reached my destination.

 

  • My bones trying desperately to run to you and the ropes pulling me back from your waiting arms. The conviction that you were the last real thing I felt before I fell.

 

  • Your fading memory that I hold onto so hard. And the cuts and bruises that the ropes inflict on my struggling fingers.

 

  • Fingers that want nothing but yours wrapped around them like they did so many years ago. Like they might never do again.

Waiting

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Days of silence,

Months of neglect,

Years of hatred,

Love’s palace wrecked.

Second of affection,

Minute of attention,

Moment of connection,

Then another rejection.

Words of comfort,

Words of passion,

Pour forth swiftly

Like arduous ration.

Laughs of today,

Tears of tomorrow,

You leave me again

To my eternal sorrow.

~Diksha

Worm

 

It slithers

Inside my brain –

Creeping around,

Inside out,

Making it’s way

Between all

The dead,

All the decay.

It crawls

Through the labyrinth,

Suckling on

The dirt,

Feasting on all

The grime,

The dust

Of my sins.

It slinks

Amongst the ruins,

Trailing around

My pain,

Goading me on,

Mocking me

For my filthy,

Uncouth offence.

~Diksha

Darling, I Wish…

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Darling, I wish

I could go back in time –

Wipe your tears away,

Hold your hand in mine.

Darling, I wish

I could watch you while you sleep

When you’re at your most vulnerable –

See everything you’ve buried deep.

Darling, I wish

I could keep you with me forever –

Spend my entire life with you,

Be parted from you, never.

Darling, I wish

I could love you a little less

Or maybe gather enough courage

To look you in the eye and finally confess.

~Diksha

A Wintery Walk

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The rush

Of the winter breeze

Against my cheek,

The thump

Of my cold feet

On the pavement

While my fingers freeze,

A sharp intake

Of breath – the building up

Of a sneeze,

The chills

Of the morning air

Whispering in my ear

Like a mischievous tease.

~Diksha

A Part of Me

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For the longest time,

I’d kept carefully

Behind the wall.

And then you arrived,

Touched me

And made me fall.

Threw me into confusion,

You turned it

All upside down;

I’d felt lost for ages,

But in you, a part of me

I suddenly found.

I know you’ll leave again –

You and I were

Never meant to be.

But for the moment, stay –

Be who you are

So I can be me.

~Diksha

Threads

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Gentle to the touch,

Practically invisible,

They strung us,

You and I, strangely –

In unspeakable bonds,

Created by knots –

A match that was heavenly.

They tangled together

Our shaky fingers,

Tripped us on our

Unsteady toes suddenly

And then as we laughed,

At the coincidence of it all,

Drew us to each other effortlessly.

Like secret strands,

That bound us at birth,

Guiding us down similar paths,

They brought me to you subtly,

And I watched in my wonder

How they made you fall for me

While I fell in love with you slowly.

~Diksha

About You

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One thousand,

Three hundred and

Eighty six times

She thinks of you

In a single day.

Tapping her foot,

Chin in hand, biting the end

Of her favourite pen,

She wonders and wonders

And wonders about you.

From hate to love, exasperation

To adoration, every turn

Of her heart dances –

Dances and dances and dances –

Entangled and caught up in you.

And yet

When it comes to words –

Words to explain…

To confess, to profess –

Words it is that fail her.

For how to string together

Sentences, how to choose symphonies

Sweet enough to confess,

To express, to address

That which she cannot say?

Which poem, which letter,

Which book can she write;

Which lyric, which ballad,

Which song can she sing

In which words does her love’s truth lay?

And her pen that spewed letters –

Millions and millions and millions of letters –

Can recreate anything,

Anything but

How she feels for you.

And damn you,

You oblivious, silly little human

For failing to hear that

Which was never spoken,

Never hinted, never expected.

Damn you

For never suspecting that

Which was always expertly

Concealed, always veiled,

Always disguised and always hidden.

Perhaps, one day

She’ll write you a song,

A poem, a ballad,

A letter

Or a sonnet.

But until then she’ll sit,

Tapping her foot,

Chin in hand,

Wondering and wondering

And wondering about you.

~Diksha