Quarantine love…!!

I want to write you a letter and ask you what is the color of sky above you, is it crimson blue or can you see streaks of dark clouds ready to move in with cavalry of thundering ones. The letter would ask you if the birds are happy there and chirp like they should and request you to find time to walk out to wave at the Moon, stuck in the solitary confinement of gaseous void. Amid the textual inquery of the sky and land, I would let you know what a dreary evenings I endure with all the other such lengthily written but unsent letters lying next to me.

How do I tell them, what a tragic world it is where words and letters like emotions are bound to obey the draconian law of truth. But like each written heartfelt conversation, this one would too end with still here, still yours.

Platonic relationship with Netflix

Just finished watching Episode One of Season One of The Politician and in spite of the darkness all over it, it made me feel better and smile, something I needed after the kind of day I have had today. So, what does it says about me? Dark comedies are kind of scandalizing to admit to being a fan of, isn’t it?

My phone’s battery died and I couldn’t go running without music, I couldn’t find time to waste on Instagram pretending to be cool and I definitely didn’t know who to call or how to call to share words, any words. In the end, Netflix came to the rescue.

You know, how we all move on in life thinking ‘we shall cross that bridge when it comes’ and today I saw the bridge waving at me from afar; I would be lying if I said I was surprised because behind every day’s pep talk lies the subtle subtitle ‘nothing is forever’, yet the mere view of what lies or might lie ahead brought an earthquake of 5.5 on Richter Scale leaving me disorientated and stumbling.

Falling in the arms of the comfy fictional show, I saw people broken, aching, dark, fractured, hopeless, forlorn and yet on top of their pretend-game and I found myself feeling okay and at ease. Pity, isn’t it? To find balm in the fabric of fiction because nothing or no one in the real-world has the power to offer the same.

Anyhow, here’s a fun fact I’ll be alright tomorrow giving myself the ‘You’re awesome, you’re beautiful and Billie Ellish would so want to be you.’ pep-talk.

Goodnight world and stay safe.

What is love?

Ask me again what love is and I’ll probably lie about it, with a poetry revolving around the moon and the stars, not wanting to scare you with the truth. Love, my darlin, is nothing but the ache that makes your heart hurt and beat at the same damn time…

Let’s talk…

Let’s talk about something, nothing, everything. Let’s talk. The pain, the denial, the lost game, the death of a will. Let’s talk about how we are not what we were and we didn’t even know when we changed. The hurt that is invisible and odourless. Let’s talk about the existence of cold black hearts with red color and soft warm skin. The failure and murder of a dream, let’s talk about what we want but won’t fight for.

Where did the good go?

I was tired &, as I came home, I fell on the bed and started playing with the TV remote. Browsing through movie channels, I found myself watching #girlinterrupted from somewhere in middle and I thought, clearly I was hit my 90s nostalgia, how we don’t have such cult movies anymore. How every movie now is about a remake of a good book or a superhero series continuation or just something that we won’t remember after few weeks or months.

I started missing 90s, my life back then, the feeling of discovering romcoms and flicks staring Winona Ryder or Meg Ryan or Jodie Foster, the adventure of watching The Mask over and over again, sniffing when Richard Gere scales the ladder with a bouquet of flowers in his mouth for Julia Roberts.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s not the movies of then and movies of now but the lingering memories of a life that was when I was busy falling for the cinematic classics.

Excuse the nostalgia of a girl who wish she could go back and rediscover the joy of watching #youvegotmail for the very first time.