Dearest Charcoal Blacks…

Dearest Charcoal Blacks,

Taking a pen as I sit here on the table, with hundreds of words I can’t find the right one to start with. Where to begin isn’t the problem but how to begin, should I confess straightaway about my profound love for you or must I first tell you when it all began. I wonder if I fell in love the very day I saw you for the first time, while you carried those water cans too heavy to slip on every step, or the time you looked at me wiping mud from your cheeks. Maybe it happened the day I saw you cry for I had never felt a pain so heartbreaking.

Those eyes, those charcoal eyes, held me and I haven’t been able to shake myself free. I’m not suppose to think of the charcoal black sea behind those eyes of yours but I’m afraid I have lost touch with my sanity, or whatever that is there to bide one by laws and rights and wrongs.

Everyday you and I talk through our stares, smiles, smirks and shrugs; a whole language we have built and yet no one has heard a word. These deep conversations we have sharing her heart out from far away mean more than the countless hours spent talking to people who know me, but not my soul.

I admit even though all I know is your name and I’m sure you know mine, I feel like I have known you for years like even before I knew myself. Do I sound too hopelessly lost? Maybe I would when I’ll tell you one day I’m going to walk up to you and give you this letter, smile and even ask you if we can go for a dinner sometime. I can almost picture your charcoal black widening with a shock but not for long, as they would soon twinkle and shine allowing the creased lines around your lips to turn into a grin.

Do you suppose we can ever find ourselves a world where it would be easy to not be afraid? I can’t go back to the life I knew before I found your face, your serious brooding pale face with a certain kind of beauty that has become a dagger inside me. If anyone takes it out it would be the end of me; I can’t get you out now.

I love the way you laugh, often to let me know you are there, while pretending to talk to those around you. Sitting on the window with a pen and paper I do my best to draw you, but even my best fails to capture the devilishly charming air of yours. Chewing your lips, frowning, laughing and lost, forgive me for I have captured you and buried you in pages hidden in my copy of Mein Kampf. I can picture you laughing hysterically and raising your left eyebrow to this scandal.

Some days you sit alone waiting for your turn while others get waters filled in their plastic cans, chattering enough to not care for the time, leaving you and I with couple of extra minutes to talk in our silence but you don’t look up. I have often wondered the pain you hid when keeping yourself busy in smoke, focusing your charcoal blacks towards the other side of road not meeting my watery blues, I wonder if the pain, keeps you up at night like it does to me. I find no solace and sleep until I see you again, until I look into those eyes throwing a mischievous eyebrow at me daring me to say a word a real word, for then I know you are no more hurting at least not enough to disappear in vain.

I can’t recall how many times I have taken a step forward and two steps back, exercising hundreds of them, at one place not finding enough courage to call out to you. Do you believe I’m like them, one of them who call you nothing but a Jew like you have no name? I so hope my darling you know me enough to know I would never hurt you or belittle you like them; for all this heart of mine desires is the freedom to run to you and kiss those dazzling charcoal blacks that have imprisoned my heart, my flesh, my soul.

One day, my dear I will break the ropes, take those steps and pull you into my arms and kiss you deeply but not before I tuck back those loose strands of hair that often fall as a playful curtain over my favorite charcoal blacks teasing me, until your fingers find them and place them behind your ears. I promise I would love you, all of you, those charcoal blacks, those teasing brown hair, the frown and freckles, the lustful eyebrows and the hurt you wear all day, I will kiss them all one day.

Wait for me, even if you don’t get this letter, please wait for me.

Madly in love with you!

Yours,

The curious blue eyes from the window.

 

 

Inspired by this music…

 

 

 

Story of a writer who writes stories…

The moment of pride, joy and sorrow for a writer when the story comes to its last line, last word…even if it’s just a file in a folder for many, it’s child to its creater who gave birth to the names, people and protagonists living inside those pages.

After going through ups and downs with those people every day, when rest of the world went to sleep, the writer is now left alone and sad…like the parent whose child has moved out for a job or a best friend who is now in another city…what now?

The joy and the sigh of strange pain…story of a writer who writes stories.

..

Why I write stories…

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Virginia Woolf gets it…!!!!

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Not dead. Occasionally writing.

Still alive.
Still fighting Gotham.
Still faking awesomeness.
Crawling my way into NaNoWriMo.

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Just an angry girl with freshly cut short hair and a book…!!!!

You know how i space out of conversations and even from situations where I’m just staring at something or someone. Yesterday i was in a meeting with my manager and this Russian intern and though he was mostly explaining something to her i was sitting there too. And then i went dreaming again; i spaced out to another world and next thing i know my manger was looking at me, his lips were moving and then i heard the words realizing he is asking me something. I was like feck what was the question.

Luckily, i managed to survive this manager meeting situation.

I wonder why i do that to me. Because i have once been into a very very bad situation because of my spacing out talent.

Anyhow, good news i got a haircut and a new book. I needed both the things so badly because i kind of had a day where i realized a friend of mine is no more my friend. I mean we are still friends but only because i am hanging on to the whole friendship thing. So i have decided to let it go. Its funny how when you are young, like teenage kind young, friendship feels like the greatest thing in life and then you grow up, your friends grow up and all that matters is to survive.

Crazy! how we change.

With a working Saturday last week i haven’t really had much time to write but my story is almost done. Still a lot left but i think i did manage to finally write something. After a long time, im hoping to complete a story. I know it might be a weird story but i wrote it so I’m really looking forward to the last page.

Goodnight World!

Look Friday what you made me do…!!!!

Friday made me do it…seriously, its all Friday’s fault that im shopping books. Why? Well i buy books when im beyond help and Friday took so long to come this week that i went all crazy inside my head.

Last night i was angry, so angry that i was in no fun mood whole day today and all i wanted was to get out of work. So i was suppose to shop books for a friend’s birthday but i ended up buying for myself. Dude! what’s wrong with  me? Why cant i control when im in a book shop? I mean i take forever to finish a book, yet i take only 2 seconds to buy a new one. Huh! i must be pretty messed up inside i guess.

I cant say im happy right now but pretty calm unlike, yesterday.

Good news is i was hurting so bad that i promised myself a writing weekend and im pretty much going to  keep it. I’m going to work on my story. Yay is good but lets not do the dance just now. Let’s just write one page first.

Before i go…40 Day dream is on replay for days…do i need therapy or another song?

Just something i once started working on, when i was a writer…

Sitting next to a window with rain pouring inside, i smoked my fourth cigarette of the day because i didn’t know what else to do. Weather man on the radio had predicted a thunderstorm but then again i had no intention of going out, not now, not ever. I was born in a mansion but this room apartment made me feel richer than i ever was in that house of 20 rooms.

The sudden flash of lightening blinded me for a second and i looked back wondering if i should close the window, but she was asleep like a baby, unaware of the storm outside. Her face brought a smile to my face and i felt tears streaming out. I threw my cigarette, closed the window and walked up to the bed and closed the bed side light. I lied there next to her looking at her tired pale face, she looked exhausted. I knew it was not going to be like this forever, i knew one fine day i won’t get to be around her but i didn’t know what to do.

I never talked about it with anyone but her; she would often tell me how i should move on with life. And every time she spoke, it didn’t felt that bad. She would say,

“All you have to do is live”

“i am living” i would reply

“But not like this, you have to follow your dreams and fall in love”

And i would slowly add “Again” to her sentence with a cracking voice which would make her cry.

Every night i would close my eyes wondering if tonight’s the night, every morning i would wake up crying because i still had her. Joy can be more painful sometimes, which is hard to understand.

Spidey Down…Spidey Down…!!!!

Super Heroes don’t need saving but i think that gotta change, because i could use a little help here. I think I’m losing my super powers or maybe I’m going through that phase that even Tobey Maguire’s Spiderman went through. Remember that scene where he stops believing in himself and one fine day while jumping from one building to another he SWOOOSHHH falls down.

Well that’s how things are with me. I mean i know I’m blue and blue but i thought that’s my own personal little secret but twice in the week people asked me if ‘I’m okay’ and that ‘i look sad or low’. Whoa! I thought i had my mask on. While i was being Spidey, people saw me as Peter Parker. Not good.

You know what’s sadder than the fact that I’m not writing this year? The fact that my NaNoWriMo account is not taking my sign up details. Can’t Sign in. Changed password so many times in fact even tried to use the Support guys to help me. Is that a “Sign” from the universe? Is the universe saying “Love- 40”?.