We are often so fearful of death, that we forget to live.

Will I have people enough who will mourn me? That is what scares me the most.
Have I left an impact absolutely anywhere?

On a funny note, I wonder what my exes will have to say.
It might be just another obituary that they read.
Is that all I will ever be?

I refuse to tolerate your obfuscated conversations. I refuse to take it. I refuse to be part of it.

Today, I refute it all.

You sought comfort from the ones who stubbed me like a burning end of the cigarette that leaves your mouth sour.

I dust my hands off of you. I am going to live now. I am not going to cry over your uselessness. I am not going to cry over the love lost.

 But I wish you nothing but the best, the most beautiful. I wish you joy. And I wish you all the love you could never give. And most of all, I wish you hope. Hope for times to come, hope for opportunities lost.

 May The Best Man Win.

The Perfect Subjectivity Of Love

All those posts, all those pages, and all those books to teach you what love is, and still here we are. Ever noticed how they all repeat the same thing? How every single fucking article you have read will carry you back to the same answers that the earlier ones were? They will change a phrase here, tweak a word there, and still give you the same viewpoint that every other article ever has?

Every psychoanalyst will always tell you to keep your options open and every time you will come back to the same conclusions as before.

 LOVE, is subjective my friend. It's yours to learn and ulearn and invent. It's up to you to see it in any way you want. If it is what all it seems like, then it's anything that makes you feel liberated. It is every thing that makes you happy, it's every thing that helps you survive, make you do better than yesterday.
It's not as complicated, you know.

And the little hurdles, you ask?
I can't recall a single exam I did well in without sweating it out. And you know what? I wanted to sweat out. I wanted it so bad, that I could not see anything beyond it.
I did that for people too, and had real bad falls.
But I always had the will to get up and dust my jacket. And I call that love. It's the love for the people, the love for things even, that made me straighten my sinking ship.

There are many loves to live for. STOP trying to classify it, or decode it, or make a pathway towards it. Stop reading cook books for it. It's as natural as breathing, let it be. It's happening all around you.

All you need, is to feel it. Cheers!

Relationships gone wrong, are like sour milk, they belong to the sewer. 

We go back to our ex-es because, they are our established comfort zones. A safety net.

During a fight, what do you think will be the first bullet that leaves the gun?

Mutation.
Mutation, is almost always a revolt.
Against a lover.
Against your mothers.
She loved my hair, so when she seized to care, I chopped my hair.

Just like Maggi.
Just like Laila.
I chopped my hair in the 23rd chapter of my life.

Nod nod, "That way no?" I asks.
Lady nod back.
The way she say with nod, I go there.

I see no light. The road is very up and down.
The nod lady sent me here, so I come.
I come to Baba.
He do miracles.
My small baby, is burning with fever.
I went to doctor, but medicine not working.
My mother in law told me to go to Baba.
So I come.

My little baby,
He is burning.

"Come to me! Quick!"
"You've done enough." The words seemed to have life. The paper, rolled up and kept under the rock. The Gestapo couldn't touch him now, maybe. The promises made to return the favor punctured his soul. Death did not arrive for him, not yet. But he killed himself.
Bit by bit.
Day by day.