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Watching the red blossom. Trickle down skin. Slow.

Blood is thicker than water you see.

Is it warm? Feels cold to me.

Hide? Or run away? Always the question. But where?

Naked. Exposed. Broken. Just the blanket of red to keep you warm.

Dear Reader

Dear Reader,

I do not know who you are. I do not know where you are from. I do not know why you are here, reading my words. Do you even exist outside my imagination?

It matters not.

Thank you for letting me spend time with you, talking of whatever comes into my mind. Thank you for not interjecting in the middle of my musings. Thank you for listening, and not judging. Thank you for letting me be a part of your life. Thank you for helping me find my voice.

Thank you for letting me be, hidden in my dark corner. Alone, but not lonely anymore.

Waiting for…

Am I being mean if I’m waiting for the day I get to be alone again? Selfish, I admit. To be responsible for and answerable to myself and no one else.

Tired of playing grown-up. Because being a grown-up means so many things I don’t want to be.

Responsible. Stable. Rational.

Waiting for the day I get to cry again. To not have to care about how my emotional state affects another.

Anger, sorrow, frustration, despair.

Mine.

Waiting for the day the reflection turns true again. When the water is still enough to flow unchecked.

Consent

Unsolicited, unsanctioned hugs. Handshakes that last too long, sometimes even attempts to interlace fingers. A friendly pat on the shoulder, and the hand accidentally brushes your thigh.

Male colleagues whisper in your ears, sit too close, bump their legs against yours. Because if you are single, and are at a party and laughing and having a drink, then you must also be easy. If you do it when you are 30, it must be because you want variety in life and refuse to limit yourself to one sexual partner.

‘Friends’ reach out and run their hand down your hair, because why would you have a problem with them doing it when you let someone else do it.

Bosses ask if it is tough with your husband being out of town, bump chairs suggestively. Reach for your face to caress, in a public lift, just because you are pregnant and glowing and “Oh! Pregnancy suits you” and they are old enough to be your father.

Male colleagues whisper in your ears, sit too close, bump their legs against yours. Because if you are single, and are at a party and laughing and having a drink, then you must also be easy. If you do it when you are 30, it must be because you want variety in life and refuse to limit yourself to one sexual partner.

The drink in my hand is not an invitation. My laughter is not permission.  My marital status, my choices about my body, are MY choices. My reasons, whatever they may be, do not change the fact that you need my permission to touch me.

Friends who reach out and run their hand down your hair, because why would you have a problem with that when you let someone else do it.

The rights I give someone are the rights I give THEM. They are not rights I give the whole world. They are not rights I give you.

Bosses ask if it is tough with your husband being out of town, bump chairs suggestively. Reach for your face to caress, in a public lift, just because you are pregnant and glowing and “Oh! Pregnancy suits you” and they are old enough to be your father.

You might be old enough to be my father, you might even have the most fatherly feelings towards me, but that doesn’t give you the right to touch me, not even my fingertips. Not without my consent. And unless I expressly say so, you do not have my consent. Pregnancy does not change the rules.

 

 Drunk, at a party, some guy leans in for a peck on the cheek, because he is happy and you have been talking and laughing together.

NO.

Your boss.

NO.

Your friend.

NO.

Just some guy. Who doesn’t think your consent matters.

Can you make it matter?

Magic

Magic fades. Comfort deepens. Already-hazy memories lose shape in the river. Dreams get terrifyingly close to reality.

You don’t hold on to a dream because it is perfect. You hold on because you are a part of it.

But what do you do when dream and memory get so intertwined that you can’t tell them apart anymore?

When you lose the line between real and imaginary?

You live in amazement.

The amazement doesn’t take away the fear of the loss of magic.

The magic outlives the mortals. They just lose the ability to see it.

Old magic never fades. It sparks every time you reach out and touch it. It gets infused into our day to day life. You can taste it, smell it, feel it, but can’t separate it out.

The magic never dies. It stays, waiting for a heart to see it and a soul to feel it.

Anniversary (Part 1)

One year. Sometimes it feels like I still haven’t woken up from that dream. The mysterious dream haze of that day and that week and that month…
It’s just you and me. The world and everyone in it – intruders all. To be kept out. Away. Just us.
Sometimes I still tremble when you kiss me. The way you can turn me on with just a glance. The way your touch can make me feel better anytime, anywhere. How it means so many things. Comfort, ownership, love, companionship, desire.
I love how you are willing to fight with me to protect me. Even though you hate fighting. I love the ring in your voice when you tell me, oh-so-matter-of-factly, that you would do anything to protect me. Even though I wouldn’t want you to.
I love the whispered words that never reach my ears, the kisses in the night while I sleep, the way I can melt into you with no awkwardness of elbows and knees.
A perfect fit.

I’m OK

People want to believe that life is good. That there is hope. And promise.

So when you tell them that you are okay, they want to believe it. Sometimes, they need to believe it. Because that lets them believe that they’ll be okay too.

Okay

“Okay”

Much used. Much abused.

It hides when you don’t know what to say.

It hides when your heart is screaming something, but you don’t let yourself say it out loud.

It hides your opinions, melting you into agreeable agreement.

It hides.

It hides whatever you want it to hide.

I’m OK, thank you for asking.

Learnings

You learn something new everyday. Yesterday, I watched a video on Facebook and learnt how to make home-made cough drops. Today, on a phone call, I learnt that 1 is greater than 7.

I learnt that when you push the pain out of your body, the expulsion is physical. Tears. Vomit. The inability to breathe.

That there is a point beyond tears, filled with nothingness. It is a quiet place to be once the violence is over.

That what has once been broken can never be fully fixed. It will always be a fractured thing, cracks showing in weak spots.

That numbness might not be such a bad thing after all. Okay, I’d learnt that one already but a reminder is always good.

That “Okay” might be the most painful thing to hear. That it can be the one word to change your life.

They say that when you stop learning you stop living. But what if you don’t survive the lesson?