The thing no one tells you is,
When you dream,
All you can see are the best parts,
The glamour, the happiness,
The front stage.
When you get so close
That you can actually touch it
If you reach out just a little
With your finger tips,
Then you see the microscopic fissures,
The mess that is the back stage.
And for some, this is where they get off.
The fear that is born in them
Is powerful enough to cripple.
You need to just remember
That good always comes with bad
And look for a way through.



Grand Gesture

Everyone says
That a grand gesture
Happens in every relationship
And when it happens,
Will be a pivotal moment
In the lives of the two involved.

In their love,
The Grand Gesture
Was not a proposal,
It was the day
That she left him
And he followed her,
And the unbreakable smile
On his face as he found her
Wet and soaking in the rain
Only widened at seeing her anger,
Because it was her anger,
Her passion,
That he fell for.
She saw his smile,
Unflinching under her wrath,
And couldn’t help but smile,
Because it was his unfailing ability
To make her smile
That she fell for.



A heart too small
Carrying with it, big sorrows.
I travel aimlessly,
Because it is in some corner
Of this too-big world
In a place you haven’t yet heard of,
That you will find yourself,
And along with it,
A growing heart.



Love is still strange to me.
The raindrops that caress my face in the first shower,
The familiar contours of a pencil between my fingers,
The dusty smoothness of an old book cover under sweaty palms,
They are things I’m familiar with,
Things I find comfort in.

This love is not comfortable.
Every moment awake, I feel strange.
It is always at the back of my mind,
The thought of him,
Of what we are hiding from the world.
Thoughts of my stomach tingling when I see him.
The strange need for him,
To be close to him,
To always maintain physical contact when he is next to me,
As though he is my anchor.

It is not comfortable.
And I am in love nevertheless.



One of things that made me love him
Was the way he read.
He was one of those people
With such a vibrant imagination
That he was able to live the character’s life
Rather than just observe.
He is my kind of reader,
He embraces the fact that
Books are meant to be lived.
When he reads,
He puts so much into it,
That he is lost to the world I’m in.
When he reads,
I don’t exist,
He will be in whatever world
The pages trap.
And I don’t mind that I’m not a part
Of his Universe in those moments,
Because he is the most beautiful thing
In my Universe in those moments.



A bride sees before her,
A new life in a new home
And a new person to share it with.
So it is unfortunate
When kohl-lined eyes
That should be seeing dreams
Of happy days,
Hold only desperation
Dread for her tomorrow
That is written with ink,
And resignation for the fate
She cannot change.