#43 Rantings of a bookahilic.

I discovered my passion for reading quite late in life. I was almost eighteen by the time I realised I was obsessed with books, and that, compared to most people I know, is pretty late. I see kids, my nephews for example, get engrossed in books the way I do now and I wonder why I wasted a good deal of my childhood doing what I did instead of just plunging into books. I wish someone had helped me find a good book back when I was little and paved the way for me. Don't get me wrong, I've been a reader all my life. I was a regular at my school library where I borrowed and returned books, after reading them of course, at quite an extraordinary pace. But I wasn't obsessed with stories. I didn't read like people breathe; the way I do now. Reading was a hobby, not an obsession; the way it is now.

My parents, though normally they're pretty cool about my obsessive reading habits, do get worked up if they see me concentrating on a novel instead of textbooks. I don't miss a beat before reminding them that, of all the things kids are choosing to get addicted to, they should be proud of me for choosing books. And it really helps. Mostly.

It has come to a point where I can't survive a day without reading at least a few pages. If I don't find a book, I read scraps of newspaper, or literally anything that offers words and stories (I never pick up a textbook during these times, though. It never comes to that.)

Reading is probably the easiest way of enhancing one's vocabulary. And what's more, it's fun to learn like that. So, read. Read like you're born to read. Read like there's no tomorrow. Read, and love reading.

#42 Excerpt from my life.

Have you ever had a friend you'd spent ages trying to befriend? The kind of person who made you wonder what they saw in you to let you get so close, when they did. The kind of person who's so sweet, that everyone loves them but you know love isn't enough for them, that they deserve much more. Yet they keep you around, you can only wonder why. But you know you like them a tad bit more because of it.
The kind of person who brightens up your day with the lamest possible message, and, not to admit to them, leaves a smile on your face for a long time. Who you fight with, who you have such sweet memories with, who contradicts you on everything you believed in, who teaches you so much, who is very easy to be taken granted for but you know never to, who reminds of your shortcomings just for the pleasure of it, who has the weirdest nicknames for you that you find endearing... I could go on and on.

But have you had this kind of person in your life and lost them? Because you were too prude to accept the fact that just because your world revolves around them, doesn't mean theirs has to. I did. Lose that person, that is.

I spent months thinking I was better without them, that I didn't need the person anymore, that I had other friends. But I always knew in the back of my mind that the person who I thought I didn't need was the one I needed the most. The difficult days that followed would've been easier with them, had they been a round to make me understand the situation. But who was to blame for their absence? Yours, truly.

Who'd have known a small message was all it took to bring them back? One message, and everything fell right back into place. The smiles, the happy vibes, the friendly accusations - it was worth letting go of my pride for.

Maybe it was the act of falling apart that showed me what it meant to have them around. Maybe we needed that (I surely did) to realize what we had is special and not worth letting go of. So here's to you, darling. For a friendship worth more than the stars. Thank you for everything, especially for letting me be myself and never judging me. (:

#41 All at once.

She sat dejected in the little booth by the window,
The restaurant was empty and her eyes filled up at how,
She was disillusioned, thinking their love would last forever,
She felt hatred about how he had left her heart to freeze.

Rain drops began splattering on the pane, she looked on,
Dejected; she felt like the world had come to an abrupt halt,
Like the rain had a secret to tell her, they beckoned at her,
But her love for it, like for everything else, had receded.

She sat staring at the tired scrawls she made on the page,
Wanting to write a song for him, she had ended up there,
Time sped away, but the page stayed almost empty,
Like her heart, her mind blocked everything about him.

They had said it would get better with time; they lied,
For it had been years and she still needed him the same,
He was the sun to her solar system, the moon to her night sky,
He was still the gentle breeze to the summer evening of a life,
He was still her love, her world, her life; all at once.


Written for the prompt 99 - A week for writing.
https://aprompteachday.wordpress.com/2016/03/01/prompt-99-wordle/

#40 The last memory

I stood there, watching him walk away from me,
I held my hand out, in hope of holding on to him,
A hand, a sleeve; something of his I was wishing for,
Instead I was left alone, grabbing at plain air.

I stepped slowly into the footsteps he had left behind,
The very sand he had set foot on, touching me now,
From a hundred steps away I heard his voice again,
Talking to a stranger like what happened was nothing.

My heart kept breaking into even smaller pieces,
I kept wishing for him to come help me pick them up,
But he was long gone, and so were his footsteps,
I guess the sea now hated him as much as I did.

I dropped to the ground then and broke down,
And wrote our names in the sand for the last time.
As the waves took over our names, erasing them,
I made up my mind to let his memories fade away.




Written for the prompt 98 -  A week for writing.

https://aprompteachday.wordpress.com/2016/02/23/prompt-98-picture-prompt/

#39 Blindfolds.

I looked at those very eyes I had sworn my love to,
The ones I had thought I was born to fall for,
And remembered how when I laughed in the dark,
They had once upon a time, outshone the stars.

I looked at those eyes I once couldn't look away from,
The ones that followed me even amidst a crowd,
And remembered how when I had sat up crying at night,
They had once upon a time, tried to heal my wounds.

I looked at those eyes that had pulled me in for a fall,
The ones that had looked at me as if I were a mural,
And remembered how when I started fading in the edges,
They had once upon a time, tried to paint me in red again.

I looked at those eyes that had once filled my senses,
The ones that I had spent ages trying to not forget,
And remembered how when I had finally given up on love,
They had once upon a time, looked away in sheer disgust.

I looked at those eyes, after so many years today,
The ones I had spent a lifetime searching for,
But I turned away, as soon as they met my gaze
As I remembered how when they had turned away from me,
They had forgotten to mirror the remorse etched in mine.

#38 The girl with the moons.

She opened her eyes to the world,

In hope of finding her love, she stood;

Facing the expanse of a tranquil sea,

She looked up, at the one lightning her up.

The music of waves, lapping at her feet,

The chaos of stars spread across the sea,

She stood as if oblivious to it all,

Her eyes transfixed on the moon.

Her hair swayed in the gentle breeze,

Her skin picked up the glow, alighting her.

Her heartbeat rose, to the rhythm of the music

She could swear the moon was playing for her.

On every shooting star, she would make a wish,

To bring her the moon; every night she did.

The stars would laugh to themselves; for,

Without the moon, they'd lose sight of the girl.

And so she waited, for years to come,

Never letting go of hope, of having the moon.

With whose waning, her spirit would die,

And whose rebirth would bring her to life.

And one day, on a starless night, the moon,

Having decided to grant her wish, he arrived,

The girl stood there, with her arms open,

To embrace her beloved love, her moon.

As he neared her, the girl's vision dwindled.

Without the moon in the sky, she couldn't see.

She wanted to hold him close, but she tripped,

And the moon got tossed onto the wide sea.

Her agony knew no bounds, she was in pieces,

And the moon looked on, helpless and blue,

The girl, supposed to be the one with the moon,

Was now, the one that had lost the moon.

The stars taking pity on the girl, whispered,

But, sweet girl, you have two moons now,

One in the sky and one in the sea,

Yours to love, yours to adore and keep.

The girl looked up, and saw it for herself,

She laughed, like the sound of chiming bells,

She had wanted one, and now she had two,

Her wish had come true, her prayers answered.

And so she would stand there, every night,

Bathing in one's light, drinking in the others',

And she hoped they would forever stay there,

And make her the girl with the moons.

A poem inspired by this picture.

#37 Who am I?

'Tell me,' he said. 'Who are you?'

She smiled. 'I'm an open book about a mystery you cannot solve.
I'm the rose you'd adore, and get pricked by if you tried to pluck me.
I'm the shooting star that you'll be wishing for, instead of wishing on.
I'm the lonely rainy nights you'll miss all year along.
I'm the music you'll miss when you're amidst a crowd.
I'm the art you'd want to paint that no ink could sketch.
I'm the glass doll you'd rather have your heart broken for.
I'm the tide engulfing the moon sprawled across the surface of the sea.
I'm the shadow you'd miss after you choose the shade over the sun.
I'm the empty canvas you'd want to adorn your central wall with.
I'm the thunder you'd wish for to bring in rain for your heart's garden.
I'm the fire that'll burn you at first but will keep you warm forever.
I'm the storm that'll bring mayhem but will leave you weedless.
I'm the moonless night that'll shower you in starlight.
I'm the magnificent rainbow that doesn't lead you to a treasure.
I'm the daydream you hung dreamcatchers in hope of capturing.
I'm the poem you started, and realised you could never finish.'

He looked at her with admiring eyes. She smiled wider and continued.

'I'm the cocoon you painted on, expecting a rainbow coloured butterfly. But baby, I'm just a tricoloured one. With golden streaks.'