All the Things Made Unsaid

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I have been cleaning and cleaning, my house or myself, of the scent of you, maybe letting my mind wander to think of you uninterrupted, I don’t know. It’s the only thing I can do now, to not think of you and think of you.

I couldn’t read, I wasn’t, I didn’t want to, not really, except the words that were yours, is something more deadly, lethal than that.

I kept losing my appetite, more and more, my body was already mourning the loss of you.

Well, I already had hypersomnia, but I lost my REM sleep.

I’ve kept myself running on the fumes, on the heat of these past few days, I will keep, until the muscles start to collapse, until the meat melts from the bones, until the bones turns to dust, until I’ve breathed in all the dust, until the ecosystem gets its deserving share back from my breath, until my Memory scratches itself out, until my brain cells finally succeed in killing each other, until the happiness of my unhappiness turns into ashes in my mouth, until I decay back into the atmosphere, until our molecules continue to find each other, until we meet in nothingness.

Fever dreams, how apt was that and fête of the dead, our wedding. Haha, it’s ironic, how we both knew, everything, and still we continued to kill each other, claw at each other’s necks, until one killed the other. It kept telling me that I cannot, I cannot take it but I said you can, you have, you will, and my heart died on the eve of your avowal. It beat and beat, wildly, more than what it already not too normally does, out of my chest, for the absence of you, I struggled to keep it in, in control, under control, my control haha, and I did, for all it did, it couldn’t wake me up. It would have been better to let you claw out my heart instead of clawing at it myself.

For lack of a better word, I’m going to say love. (that’s how it started but the more I stayed the more I was gone, know anyone too much, and you are)

I cannot, I will not, talk to you but I can love you in my thoughts, in my dreams, in between waking hours, in between moments of life, in between living and dying.

You gave me perspective, you made me be more myself, you made me love myself completely, I don’t feel beautiful everyday, you made me feel beautiful without ever having seen me.

This will crumble too. But, until then, I’ll keep you alive, I will.

I was already on the edge and now I’m falling, falling, skipping rock bottom after rock bottom, thwarting its very nature until the rock bottom falls out.

I told you, you go down, I go down. And if I go down, I’m not taking you with me. I hope so.

I was predicting the future with the present, maybe it was my intuition or you were too predictable. It wasn’t fiction, none of it is, everything is real, all that I write. It was all real, to me at least, in the moment if nothing else, I felt it all, I saw it, as real can be. Ever since I collided with you and into you, all I wrote was for you and yours. This line I had quite, almost, once, said to you. I kept writing it down, I wrote all that I felt, all that I really felt, it was really fantastical at the time, could be fiction. I couldn’t tell you because you don’t mess with Time. And, I am manipulative, you never notice it but it is there, in my genes.

I told you I wanted nothing but everything, then more and then more. I cannot help but give myself up completely, or not give anything at all. I cannot hold back, I cannot hold myself back, I cannot give anything less, when it comes to me, to love, I’m starting to think we’re one and the same thing. Why else am I so wary.

So, now do you know who’s the moth and who’s the flame? Who’s the afflicted and who’s the affliction, please tell me, do you know? Who’s the fire and who’s the water?

It was like I was from the future and you were already dead. I wanted to go into the past, I wanted to live there, I wanted to resurrect you, I did. But for how long, forces greater than ourselves at work.

You, your fiction, your words were like sailing on stolen dreams.

You’re the one to dream with, what I liked best about you.

I was dreaming the idea of you, I was waiting and then you came. You were an idea come to life. You started walking and breathing, talking and WRITING, how could I resist. The prayer I prayed for, the dream I dreamt, it was like one day I prayed, asked for you, may be even before I did, and you were breathed life into.
I had written this, above, long ago, I didn’t fake my feelings, or hide them, I just didn’t feel them, but I knew they were going to happen, and, they did, ironically after I had lost you to reality, into the abyss.

It’s like I absorbed you into myself, you are gone, the me you unreal-er than you, not as kind or more considerate than you, but all my memories of you, all that is left…and maybe hopefully more.

I am poison, how long until it seeped into your bones, I should have told you, but what difference would it have made. I would’ve been the destruction of you, and being your end would have been mine.

So who won? I knew if you played the game we’d both lose. I knew. I knew. And still I did nothing. Everything you said, the fiction/non-fiction you doubted was true, all true.

I can let myself go now, you made that possible, you gave me my love back, you gave me a heart, was it yours?

But you didn’t care for the most important part of me, the best, the one that kept me alive all this time. Your biggest mistake was overlooking what I was, all I was, you didn’t even know what was my redeeming factor. The one that checkmated you, you went down, and I went down with it. My penchant for not being alone in this took me down. And down, down, I went, with you.

So, until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, until the mountains rise as scattered dust, I’ll wait for you, like you’re waiting for me, may be even after that. Until it destroys me. Until it destroys itself.

You said you wouldn’t want to hurt me, but you were going to. And, I am vengeful, you do it in the future, I know and do it in your present. Your worst mistake was underestimating me, it makes me laugh, how little you knew of me, and you didn’t even ask, hahha.

You were everything and all I dreamed, and more, you just fell short of the most important part, about the only thing I could not move past, just goes to show how wrong, flawed my design was. But, everyone, I’m going to compare to you.

You are killing me and you are keeping me alive.

A posthumous marriage, a fête of the dead, a union of the damned in hell, a purgatory in this world, our love was already taking its last breaths when it was born in between the future and the present. I knew it, you knew.

You reminded me of who I was, what were my priorities, family, love, all the important things, all that I am, all I couldn’t see, and all that I could be.

You said you liked my endings, ironically, after you, I don’t think I’ll be able to end.

I needed you, I needed you to write. That clinched the deal for me.

I wanted to dance with the dead, but for how long….All your words, I took them, made them mine, I was doing it, hidden from you. I didn’t care for whom they were, I didn’t ask, why would I, they felt mine.

You are killing me with your love, I can feel it in the air, the waves pass right through me and a bit stays, do you think I have to talk to you, to see you, to feel it? Do you have to be alive? I can feel it. I can love you, over all the fucking seas separating us. I will.

I know and write, before you do, all that I’m going to say.

I will not stop crying.

You are choking me with your fingers. I have been living long enough, haven’t I?

I loved you before I knew I did.

You took my soul with you. You left my heart. And I was going to give everyone my heart, my body but I was going to get to keep my soul, my mind. They were going to be just mine. I can feel your fingers in my throat.

You made me realize that I could never stop thinking about my children, because there ghosts were always with me, they were going to be mine, just mine, until I found the right person.

You wouldn’t let me live, and you wouldn’t let me die.

That we couldn’t be together in reality, it didn’t matter, we are together, more real-er than reality, more painful than reality, I am in the purgatory, with the decaying remains of you.

You wanted your unrequited love, I wanted my heart broken open. Careful what you wish for. We will be together in my fever dreams and yours, nothing is going to get in the way, not reality, not us, nothing ever. I was yours, I am yours, I will be yours, my soul will, my mind will, follow you, everywhere, anywhere. We are one now. This is more beautiful than Reality.

Your words will be my sustenance, everything else is poison, you are the poison I need. Let’s destroy each other.

Does it matter we never met, that you never saw me, never heard me, I see you everywhere. My heart is dying. You are the death I won’t die of. What if I’m an oath breaker, so be it.

“Does one love breathing?”

Until Time wrenches me away from me, the best, the most beautiful, the most important, the most real thing I have.

I said I was afraid of losing myself in you, it’d be so true a prophecy, I couldn’t imagine.

I could let you go in reality, I cannot let you go in actuality, I cannot miss a part of me, I cannot cut off parts of myself, break and break off parts of Me. And when everything is shredded to pieces, you will remain. I cannot kill myself.

When you went you took me away with you. You didn’t even ask. All that is left is you. Everything is killing me.

Every knock is you, every apparition, every shadow, every shock, every quake is you.

All you had to do is make the lightest tap on my heart, your name, beautiful because of you, and you had me sprawling, on the floor, and I cannot get up, I cannot come back. I am gone, off to nowhere, down past rock bottom, ribs bruised. Where is the girl you loved?

I cannot separate you and me, you speak inside my head, you reside inside my head and if I fight with you I get a headache, I have to stop and think of you to stop you, I cannot think, I cannot see, I cannot hear, I cannot eat, I cannot taste, I cannot breathe, without you.

With you, I was on my best behavior. But, from now on I’ll deserve your love. I’ll be the person you thought me to be, and more. This was why our paths met, to make me a better person.

You see, we were destined to meet and then never go our separate ways really. Because of you so many things didn’t happen, I was bewildered as to what was happening, the whole of my world stood still, all the barriers I built fell down, nothing made sense, nothing we did worked, everyone started saying الله کی مرضی, just for you to come, and give me your words and after I had them I wasn’t settling, for anything, less, else. Even long before you I couldn’t, I wouldn’t love Another. Now, I understand. The Hand of Fate wrote us United, in the particles of the universe, like the galaxies exist in harmony, so do we.

Your words reverberate inside my head, until I listen to them.

What was to be gained by the physical union when we have spiritual cognizance. You can hear me, I can hear you. I can talk to you, you can talk to me, if you want to. What else could I ask for. This is so beautiful. I could kiss you in the moonlight right now.

I used to look at the moon too and try to imagine/associate it with people, never really worked except I had the yearning to, now when I will see it, I’ll think of you, I’ll see you. We have the same hands, you know, pretty identical. You always said we had a weird connection, well, now I feel it, too, what you were talking about, In My Veins.

The hole is gone, the dull throb of pain reminds me that I grieve for you still. But, this time, this is going to heal me, not hurt me.

If I had known you were falling for me, I wouldn’t have expressed myself like that, it’s just that it felt safe with you, I felt safe with you. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I’m not sorry. I’m not, about anything. I wasn’t totally oblivious but it still came as a shock when you started telling me what had really been happening from the get go. You could say the same for me, but I had my misgivings, insecurities, concerns and issues, accompanying me on my every pilgrimage bringing me back. I try to mold my thinking, my want to what is real, what should be, what is right, so I didn’t set my heart free/roaming. I caged it up pretty tight. But now it yours, I guess.

Your myopia would’ve blindsided you, almost did, I didn’t think it, my first answer, was too shocking.

I knew your words were mine, they always felt mine, why didn’t you, why else did you think I couldn’t ever look away.
And, now, all my words are yours. Just like that.

And, you can ask me to become different for you when you can’t be more religious for me. So, I leave all my friends and my family, my cities, my homes, and take on the seas, what do you lose? How little a price you pay.

You don’t understand, I let you go and I let myself go, unknowingly I went ahead and fell in love with you in spite of and despite myself, because I thought there were no strings attached. It’s so beyond my control now. I thought I could handle heartbreak, that I could bounce back from anything, how naïve of me, hahhah, I can handle it, my heart can’t, I cannot handle the grief, it cripples me, and it doesn’t stop, the absence, the loss.

Yeah, that’s the first time I’m really saying my name, your name, to myself even, you have been buried and hidden deep in my heart before this, I love you, I love you, I love you, with all that I am, and all that I am not, I love you like the sky loves the earth, like the horizon loves the sun, like the moon loves the sun, like the heavens love the exalted, like man loves sin, nothing else could persuade me to read you still, and it’s taking all the strength I don’t have in me, all in the world, to not rush into your arms and claim you just mine forever, and beyond, I know there’s just One you, but, given how things are, I cannot, I will not, you have to be strong for me like I am trying to be for you. I’m not sorry.

You shall write, all that you will write, everything that you shall write, you will make it rain and I will soak in it.

I didn’t lie to you, never, about anything.
“Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt Truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.”

You thought unrequited love was good, everything, I thought too, but this. This. Is. The. End.

I slept, and it was too, constricting, too stopping, it’s like I Dreamed you Were Missing And now I’m So Scared, of the void, of the emptiness of you. My arms throb fighting it, the demons eating my dreams, leaving me empty.

In mourning, for now.

While writing this, I fell in love with you, or maybe I had already, I just didn’t know it, maybe the future caught up to me in its past.

I didn’t know you were this kind, may be I didn’t want to care, may be you are to every woman, yes that is true, and you’re, specially, to me, like I am to you.

Maybe I’d never stop writing this. Could I?

I cannot read books, well, except yours, these days.

I lost a piece of myself, you, and I can’t seem to find it. It has broken off me, it has chipped me, I’m ugly without it.

I had stayed in your fiction for too long, I knew that I should leave, but I knew I wasn’t going to.

That was why I was afraid to love, wouldn’t love, because I cannot not give everything.

I was looking at you, but I saw myself, I kept seeing myself. I didn’t know you, not really,

Until I tried to choke you I didn’t start knowing you.

What I said, stands, taller than ever, stronger than ever, real-er than ever, is truer than ever, who am I without it. I cannot say another farewell to you.

I’m no Sarah or Kinna, just human. Nothing compares to this, what I’m feeling, I never even considered forever like this, really, for anyone, anyone tangible, real.

You want me because you’re unreal, I want you because your sincerity, your essence feels real, more real than anyone that ever was.

At that end, I was so torn I couldn’t get a word out, my throat dried up like the desert, it still is, choking, my hands trembled, my mind got numbed.

I told you you didn’t know, I am too much.

My love doesn’t destroy, only if you unaccept it.

You weren’t sad, I was.

I know I cannot take things for granted, oh do I know.
I want to be more real than real.

You would grow to hate me.

I’m naïve but who cares.

You said you had to end because the poem was killing you, now I know. I wanted it for myself and I thought to myself you don’t have to know, I’d make it mine, I did, stealthily, it’s incompleteness even more incomplete (literally) in my hand in my diary.

Maybe I don’t know still, what I have, what I don’t have, what I feel, what I felt but I cannot keep this to myself. It’s killing me.

Will this ever end, will we forever keep cancelling each other out.

I’m turning obsessive, compulsive, stalking, scared yet?

I know I can, move, on, get past this, but I don’t want to.

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The Non-fiction of Fiction

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It was time. She knew it in her faltering heartbeat. Her chest heaved, her temples throbbed in that way she had come to know as her own. Cradling reality as she were, Time was going to collide with reality, reverberate in her cracking body, it could damn well try. And she wasn’t ready, far from it, but she was going to stop it, the pre-pre-heartbreak from the post-heartbreak. She knew that dance, those who don’t are only fooling themselves. It’s dawn, or is it dusk, never mattered to me.

Sometimes alone is the best thing to be when you’re in pain, you and the Lord, let Him in, let Him heal your broken heart, it’s just worth getting your heart broken to let that Light in. She told herself, steeling, willing herself to believe, it’s all a state of mind.

I’m not afraid of breaking my heart anymore. Well, at least that part is true.
I’ve known this pain so much, so many times now, that it’s okay, it is really. Every time it happens I heal faster. And if it can take this short to heal now then it’s worth it. She calculated. It’s worth knowing who I am, it’s worth knowing who He is, calling Him. She revelled in her pain.

I’m okay being in the dark because the light is so blinding. I’m okay being broken because it reminds me that I’m alive, that I can be better, the journeys and the pilgrimages that I have to make. She believed in that like she believed in her existence, both were synonymous to her now. She was recalling lost words and lost faces from her impregnable memories now, they always come back to you, don’t they.

I’m not giving in to my feelings, letting them in, letting him in, because He is the one I want to let in, in my heart. I know it means I will break my heart again, slowly slowly, again after again, but I guess it’s okay. This is me. It has always been me. The lies she told herself to believe in the truth, again, and, again.

It’s okay to feel like this sometimes, ofttimes. Just some moments ago, I was okay because I was listening to Him, and then I wasn’t.

This is how it is supposed to be, you can create but you can’t be the Creator. Isn’t that how you think/say things should be, everything in balance, well you’re the balancing factor, congratulations. You want only to love Him, isn’t that what you want and that is what is happening so why sad, this pain in your chest is His pain, your sorrow His to shoulder, your load His to tote, so why are you sad girl when you got Him, everything is as you know it should be. So let it go. Open your heart and let it go. Let it fly away, into the open ocean, where it cannot hurt you by you trying to hold it in, that which is not yours. She countered, gave herself the right version of her stark truth.

I’m not sad, anymore, now, for now, at the moment. I opened my heart. It’s broken open, gaping, open, yes, broken not so much. I’m willing it to fly away with the hope and the choice to come back if it wishes but I do not promise it the guarantee of asylum, I do not, you have the choice, but so do I. She tried to make herself akin to her idealism mixed in with a little realism.

I am okay. I am broken and fulfilled. I have what I want, what really is worth having, what should be wanted, and I asked for it, that what is real. And in this moment I feel like I got it. I lost something ugly, so inferior, little, insignificant, unreal, imaginary but got something so huge, so beautiful, so powerful. And I’m an idiot if I let it go. Always the fool.

So I’ll be okay. Not now, not soon but not not ever. Truth.
She started healing herself with words, that were hers yet they weren’t, just so.

Let it out, the darkness, the dark winged creature flapping it’s powerful wings against the closed doors of your heart, clawing at your pink heart’s flesh, which only you can open, from the inside, as said by the voice inside your head once, because the Light cannot abide with the darkness, it will drive it out, but first, you have to open the gates, to, and out of your heart.

As I contemplated the mirthless plight of my heart, trying to dress it in layers after layers to beautify it like an onion or the flowers in fairytopia where the faeries reside with the mermaids or are rather enslaved to them hiding in their little floral dwellings until they have to go out in the world passing over the waterfalls that king the merladies, to camouflage the actual vulgar ugly thing that it really is, I was thinking and kind of smiling to myself when I felt that my eyes were filled up. I still thought smiled the smile which has nothing smiling about it but is nevertheless a smile, the logical rational being never noticed they were full to the brim, but all my devil-may-careness could not stop the water (tear? Is it really, if you can’t feel it) from escaping my left eye onto the left side of my nose tickling and settling into the depression in the roof of my nostril as I continued to laugh at it, the absurdity of weeping, feelings, life, tears, humans. I wiped it away, off, the damn thing, while it lingered over my nose, in the space between the nose and the face, before it could enter the world of my reality, before it could laugh at me instead of I at it. She smiled within the smile.

Just yestermorn, at this same time, I had thought I was really pretty, maybe even beautiful by definition, in the sense of, despite and in spite of everything. Her several hells swelled and swerved before and within her. Today I didn’t smile at me, talk to me, just stared right in the eyes I’m-beyond-repair-do-I-care back, I looked at the same mirror, the same person, the same face, as it was, but it wasn’t beautiful, those lips were ugly, rotten, chewed too much off, the eyes warmthless, the face mirthless, unforgiving, unyielding, realistic, minimalistic, careless, humorless, faithless, hateless. Beautiful?  Hahahahahahahaha hah huh ssnn fff hh hh hh

The wave in the front strand mocked me, the girl from yesterday laughed in my poker nothing’s-gonna-change-it face. The girl laughed for some time but then she changed back to my reflection, she was all out. She relented, took pity on herself.

And it was before this. It was hurting.

You prayed, you asked for it in your prayers, how much and how did you ask, how did you cry, little did you know the price, little, nothing price though it was. Small price to pay, sure.

You had your plans, you had your things.
Things didn’t work, you were settling for less, He had better plans for you, He has better plans for you, as ever, He always has.

You knew better, you did, you weren’t trying to fool even yourself. The joke is on you, the plan is on you. No, it’s not on you, it’s not about you, who are you?
The game. The game. Haha hahahha hahahha. The game.

The demons were out, no stopping them, happiness is fleeting, the voices within the voices, voices between voices. Stop it, my head hurts. It always does. You can’t stop it. You do it yourself, to yourself, you want this, they had said.

He clawed out my heart, all of them did, dug it out with his talons, bit into it with his serpent fangs while looking at me with his demonic eyes, as I laughed and laughed. And I thought it was funny, until my eyes started crying sadness into the hole that was my heart, still I laughed, more a laugh than a whimper, then it started stopping, I didn’t want it to stop, I wouldn’t, it turned into sobbing laughter, sadness laughing in my face, my face laughing in sadness, in sadness’s face. That I did, I did, forgetting where I set out from, what I set out to prove. Still, I didn’t care. Now my eyes are hurting as they stare into the future of my past as I ignore, ignore the calming hands of….death. Those are so soft, so sleepy, so sleepy, tired….and alone. Beyond hurt now, limbs akimbo.

I’ve stayed in your fiction for too long now. I can’t move forward nor can I go back, stuck in limbo.

Love Physics

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You are sensitive and warm and your hands, they are so gentle like you, your tapering fingertips present the state of your mind, I must wonder how it’d feel to be enveloped in them, just disappear. You are dark yet there is comfort in that darkness, for darkness. You’re cozy in your shiver inducing stare, the eyes that look past anything are liquid, brimming with honey just waiting to be poured out, drunk, tasted, swallowed, your locks though not gold like the sun, are chocolate, so much the better, dark, just how I like it. You are cool, your breath is just like fresh air, the green breeze, the drizzle before and after the rain, you are bloated, hehheheehhh, but it feels just like me.

When I have you I want for nothing else, I seem to want for nothing, nor food neither even congress, you and me, that’s just okay, enough, no time, no room for lust.

When you want that one person nothing else, no one else, matters, you cannot do with anything else, no one else, nothing will do. Anything else is a distraction, even I am a distraction, my needs are a distraction, my narcissism and my vanity are a distraction, while looking at you, you are a distraction, you are a distraction to that which is us.

I need you, you might not know it yet but you need me, we need each other, each the other’s heart more than the body, mind more than the heart, the soul more than the mind, the essence of each other, the essence of us.

You and I are together in this, I refuse to be alone in this, we will be together in this or not at all, in Time. This is the last call. The last summons. There is none of that in love, but this is more than love, isn’t it. It’s the brink of love and like, hate and narcissism, vanity and selfishness, where all of them meet, and either build everything up, or raze it all to the ground, no mistakes allowed, no second chances, no looking back. “What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?” :’) What happens when same charged particles are forced together.

Let’s just hope that we don’t kill each other in the hope that this is too much fun.

Let’s make a promise to me, to each other, I’ll let you be you and you let me be more me. I vow not to destroy you at the expense of saving myself. You go down, I go down, we go down, together and one. I go down, I go down. I’m not pulling you down with me though, that will not be me, that’s not my nature. I cherish and savor being the sole savior too much, the lone wolf. Let me do that as a favor to me, a testament of my loyalty to us, to you, to this, to love. “If equal affection cannot be / Let the more loving one be me”? :) Let me have this last one, let me imbue you with the kiss of death.

It’s dawning

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Can you miss someone while talking to them? I miss you talking to you, not talking to you, I miss you while thinking of you, miss you while missing you, miss you between missing you.

Like you without even loving you, much less falling.

Who’s the moth and who’s the flame, can even you tell?

Who’s the afflicted and who’s the affliction, please tell me, do you know?

Are you feeling what I’m feeling? Because it’s not fun without you feeling too. Don’t make me jump through hoops, I’ve always hated games, it’s not fair to me. I’m  more than happy seeing everyone else play or maybe watch with someone, won’t you watch with me.

I’m narcissistic, don’t you get it. Why punish me for it when I already am, when I’m punishment enough.

I’m afraid of someday waking up and just not talking to you anymore. I’m afraid of not even wanting to. I have done that before, more times than I can count, for real. I like talking to you. Let me. Let me be. Let me be me. Let me be real. While letting me not let you be real, not make you real, not make this real. I’m a fucking tyrant, I need control, more than I had my whole life, why can’t you guess faster, aren’t I? Aren’t I more than up to the task? I think so.

Let me be simple, I’m simple, I’d like to be more, a bit more, that’s it, but for now, that is where I am, somewhat like you I need time.

I ask of you, everything, yeah, nothing, and everything, nothing but everything. I want more, more and more, why must you delay my gratification, that’s for me to do for myself, you can trust me to do that….or can you?

I don’t know what I ask of you, you see, nor what I ask of me. Am I a sucker for going after myself, seeking myself, even if it’s a dull void. I want to throw you in that void, against that void, you understand, and see if you bounce back. That’s kind of my thing, you get?

But it never happens because things in my world are upside down, or skewed or whatever, it’s like looking at the world through a fishbowl, everything’s different, crazy and that’s why I’m so excited. Everything gets me so crazy, I’m hyperventilating for the love of God, I like everything, love the whole Mother fucking Earth, all it’s little inhabitants, too much. Too much, those two are the words for me. The world doesn’t like it, oh no, they don’t and I have to keep it down, keep it from showing, hide everything, my face, but then my eyes show, my body, but then the contours of my burqa tell the story. What do I do. I hide within the hidden, my words within the secrets, the secrets within the words, it doesn’t kill me, it doesn’t sustain me. I’m not living, was I ever? Was I born still, I must ask. Did the hand of Fate strike me therein? I’m not living the way I was born to be, I’m just vegetating the hell out of “life”. And here you come, living, I must hate you. Must hate you now. Make it the reason of my living, make it the substance of my living, maybe it will be my Redemption. You are another hope, different, unique, but another hope just the same. You make me yearn for lost people, lost loves, whyy. You make me recall the lost faces, see them in you and out of you, like a twisted ying-yang, hate it, and I’m not allowed to even love you, fall, hahahhh. You’re making me hate my words, you’ve colored my walls all bright but now you blacken my heart, ashen everything, will there be anything left? I’ve loved, loved before, I’m hating, exploring hate, thinking about hate, hate that I’m hating right now. I’ve sucked in my breath, the hole is pulsating, making its presence felt, the pit of darkness darkening in the dead of the night, hidden from all eyes and mine. Where is my damn fickle heart, wander lusting around again, not here when I need it, it’s gone eating someone else’s pain and then later making me a gift of it, where are you when I need you, you fucking bastard!

You have a hole where your heart is too, right? Or a hole in your heart, because I haven’t felt it, your heart. After everything, I haven’t felt it breathing, or heard it ringing, have you ever heard mine? I’m curious, can you tell my heart? I’m feeling pretty dark right now, you care?

I shouldn’t have spent too much time on them, with them, trying to taste the little of their lives, the dark twain. I feel their darkness, within the dark twin of my heart, it has seeped into me. I’ve made you listen to it’s soliloquy, I’m wasting your time (if you don’t know by now), go away, and leave me alone (you’re bothering me now). The dawn is near and the demons are starting to ebb away, I can feel the darkness slumbering, they’ll be sleeping presently, I’ll let them. Oh God, I’ll let them.

Book Review | Beyond Desire by Asghar Abbas

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One helll of a ride!

I’m going to try and be totally unbiased, sure the author gave me the book for free, but he didn’t ask anything in turn, it’s all me. I got the book because I expressed real interest in reading it (but I couldn’t afford it) and to encourage the amateur aspiring writer that I am, but that’s no reason to not be just to his work.

I had great hopes but I was also scared. I wanted to read it at the perfect time, perfect day, perfect moment (don’t I, with every book). I had left the book for last, I had been reading the author’s blog for some days past so as to better the experience of the book, to get a general feel of the writing, and most of all to learn and just amuse myself. I have to say that the author’s writing has ripened and drastically evolved over time. Anyhoo, I knew I was gonna like this book (I mostly know) but I had no idea I was gonna enjoy it like I did.

I’m awestruck. It started so sweet, so smooth, so vulnerable, I read with reverence.

Beyond Desire is a mystery thriller 24-hours into the life of the smart, beautiful and ambitious Iva Gyongy. Iva moves from France to the Promised Land of NYC but her dreams take a turn for the worse when she finds herself in a gambling debt to a loan shark on someone else’s behalf. Iva is a naïve small town girl but what will happen when she’s pushed to her limits.

I would have loved to stay and enjoy Paris because I read about it all the time but never got the chance to see it before. I knew a lot about Paris;….I know my mother won’t go to these places by herself, not without me.

It’s very plot-driven. I can’t say much because the plot is so complicated and mysterious. I don’t want to spoil anyone and I don’t want to give anything away, believe me, you don’t want that. Also, because that’s how I enjoy going in, knowing almost nothing, and it’s one of those kinds of novels.

The novel is short but it doesn’t matter, IT DOES NOT MATTER, it’s complete, it has everything, I didn’t even feel that it was short while reading it. The author attacked the main character from almost every angle. It has a lot of elements, so many facets, dimensions, all your mystery desires and beyond!
Nothing felt amiss. The most the author could have done was add in a few more descriptions and internal monologue but that’s just me, I like longer descriptions and thoughts when people tend to get annoyed.

(People, don’t read the spoiler if you haven’t read the book because you WILL regret it. Read it once you’re done with the book and tell me what’d you think?)

But, there’s a catch which I can’t tell because it might be spoilery.

The author had finished writing this novel when he was just 18, astounding, especially when you read the novel, I CAN’T EVEN!

Even though I had been writing full time since I was 18, it was at that time I finished what would become my first novel.

Thoughts about my first novel. OK. Four years into this acute madness, I thought I was ready to do things on book level and actually finish one. After all I had put in enough hours, spent enough time at the abattoir I felt I was ready, when no one is ever ready. But spend enough time and you can hone any skill. I thrust my gingerly titled stillborn fawn called Wave of a Dark Ocean (re titled from Testament Deal Gone South via Wave of a Dark Ocean; yeah like I was Alan Bradley (heck, Bradley wasn’t Bradley at that time or Ethan Hawkes’s character from Before Midnight ) ) so I shoved my nascent but completed work (I cannot stress this enough) into the thresher and what came out from the fog and smoke wrapped up in trellis of wet leaden smog was Beyond Desire, thanks a lot Florida! And yet they weren’t done, they dealt another kindness, a brutal blow; our poor protagonist had went into the promised land a flaxen maudlin golden with promise and she was spat out the other end as a raven haired tempest. I had sent Iva Gyongy to the slaughter and Eva Green was reborn. Such treachery, such a travesty ! So so many other things had gone wrong but that’s another ghost story for some other campfire storytelling.

So, Iva’s raven hair was a publishing decision.

I loved the cover, I was so enraptured by it, I couldn’t take my eyes off, it’s art, because it so captures the essence of the novel. I LOVE the dedication and how the title of the novel came to be.

You can’t study creativity, it comes from imagination, from being inspired all the time. It’s about being awake when you are asleep and sleeping when you are awake. It’s about seeing what dreams show you. It’s about the power of imagination, something you can’t learn. It’s something that comes naturally from within. It’s about today. It’s about work, desire—no, it’s beyond desire and most of all, hope. Because, in the end, it is the only thing that is worth anything, and keeping in mind the void called death. It’s about the power of making a statement…..

One of the very poetic elements about the novel is that Iva has lucid dreams.

Dreams may seem illogical but they are very important. This image in my sub-consciousness is so real that I’m totally awestruck. Not only am I the artist—now I have become the viewer. Yet the picture is beautiful as it is powerful, so magnificent that it seems as if it is the embodiment of God.

I loved the Pay attention guys!, haha, and when Iva gets angry, too fiery for her own damn good. The novel has little endearing bits of French (mostly translated) here and there and loved the book and TV references.

I liked the information about NYU but maybe that’s because I didn’t know much. I couldn’t help wondering if everyone would enjoy all that.

Republicans and Democrats, Yankees and Southerners, homophobia, anti-Semitism, stereotypes, so racist, so American.

A story unlike ours—another catch the American-Dream story that entices a bunch of people from around the world to come here. And what the fuck is the fucking American-Dream? Just another clever, white, businesshead doing well. Maybe that’s unfair but it’s okay, because I’m white too in that sense, but yet not successful.

The writing is great, the story is great, the protagonist is believable and lovable and has a rich backstory. The novel has no obvious plot holes. The mystery thrives and builds up till the last. The writing is fast-paced, you don’t want to stop because you want to KNOW. Sometimes you’re wondering where is this all going, even the characters don’t seem to know. Beyond Desire is a jigsaw puzzle with pieces scattered here and there, haphazardly, and the picture doesn’t form until the last piece is in place.

The novel has a little content of sexual nature, mentions of menstruation, sexual assault, rape, and homosexuality but not unnecessarily. If someone’s bothered by that, what I always say is: do these things not happen in real life? are the writers making it up? should they just not talk about it because it isn’t all nice?

People don’t like heroes and they just love to destroy them even if these heroes are trying to save them, risking and sacrificing everything for the ungrateful fuckers.

Best explains the novel.

I continually oscillated between 4 stars and 5 stars so 4.5 stars it is.

So, to conclude, I had so much fun with the roller coaster that is Beyond Desire.

Forget all I just said, just GO AND READ THE BOOK!

(This is a spoiler-free review but if you have read the book there is a little spoiler included in the Goodreads review.)

On Mother’s Day

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I love my bae-bae the most even if I’ve got strange ways of showing/not showing it. Everything that I am, I owe it to her.
There should be at least one day where I get to thank you. First of all, thank you for making me into the woman I am today. Thank you for taking me to all those book sales, thank you for reading to me when I couldn’t, thank you for making me recite namaz, kalimas and dua every night when I was little, thank you for taking me to the library for the first time when I was 8, thank you for bringing me books home, thank you for asking the librarian to let me borrow books which they didn’t let kids borrow, thank you for reciting Faiz, Iqbal, Faraz and Meer to me when I was a girl, thank you for narrating Tess (as you call it) and Piyar ka Pehla Shehar and others to me when I wasn’t ready to read them myself, thank you for telling me the meanings to the words I don’t know to date, thank you for helping me navigate the uncertain waters of life, thank you for passing on the love of books, knowledge and writing to me, thank you for enjoying every bookish thing I drag you to and that without question, thank you for sitting at the bookstore for hours reading a book while I browse, thank you for singing kalam and ghazals to me (those that I like of course), thank you for drawing faces on your arms and legs and books and pages and everywhere for me to emulate, thank you for leaving writings on the walls and the sheets and the cushions and pillows and bits and pieces of paper everywhere, thank you two for having books all around the house, thank you for remembering whatever I drew and wrote for you and everything I said, thank you for being most yourself when you’re with us, thank you for trying to satisfy my insatiable appetite for everything crazy and of course food, thank you for being an inspiration, thank you for knowing and doing things before I know them, thank you for living with my quirks, thank you for being with me on my worst days, thank you for being with me every step of the way, thank you for letting me act the elder all the time, thank you for being there with me when I’m being the most difficult person in the world, thank you for letting me be all kinds of crazy, thank you for putting up with my insanity, thank you for your trust in letting me do almost anything I want, thank you for being proud of me no matter what I do, thank you for giving me more than anything I could ever hope for, thank you for being my best friend and my best confidante, thank you for always letting me make my own decisions, thank you for being the best example of selflessness, thank you for being the most talented, thank you for the kisses and the embraces, thank you for your kindness, thank you for your tolerance, thank you for being happier than myself for me, thank you for being the best person in my life, thank you for me, and most of all, I thank you for being you. :’)
I’m so proud of being your daughter, thank you for your DNA. And thank you for taking me up with the slipper so I would study hard. God knows where I would have ended up without it.  
I love all versions of you, the mother, the poetess and the teacher. People say you aren’t very brave but doing what you do is a special kind of bravery only special people are capable of. You are my everything, I can’t imagine myself without you. You know I love you the most, wish you had been more selfish,you’re too motherly for your own good, Happy Mother’s Day!
xx
#thebestpersonIknow #myconstant #everythingthatIam#tellthepeopleyoulove #HappyMother‘sdaytoallthewondrousmomsoutthere!:)

Woman

Book Review | Moth Smoke by Mohsin Hamid

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An easy, enjoyable read. I sat back and relaxed, reading it slowly, savoring the beautiful, almost lyrical prose.

“A breeze tastes my sweat and I shiver, shutting my eyes and raising my arms with it, wanting to fly. I walk in circles, tracing the ripples that would radiate if the stars fell from the sky through the lake of this lawn, one by one, like a rainstorm moving slowly into the breeze, toward the tree, each splash, each circle, closer.
And with a last stardrop, a last circle, I arrive, and she’s there, chemical wonder in her eyes.”

The writing is short, precise and witty. The novel starts and ends with a reference to the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan and the war of succession amongst his sons. The characters names are symbolic as they are the same as Shah Jahan; Khurram, his sons; Dara Shikoh, Shuja, Murad, Aurangzeb, wife; Mumtaz and grandson from Aurangzeb; Muazzam, and Manucci, who worked in the service of Dara Shikoh and somewhat suffer the same fate as their historical counterparts.

Set in the bustling city of Lahore, called the Heart of Pakistan, during the summer of 1998 when Pakistan was testing for Nuclear bombs, it is a more liberal than a true portrayal of the corrupt and decadent elite class of Lahore which only a few of Pakistanis will identify with. At the same time, the occasional vernacular and Pakistani slang, a bit of Pakistani culture and the names of the streets of Lahore are very reaffirming to the Pakistani reader.

Moth Smoke revolves around three people: Darashikoh “Daru” Shezad; the orphan anti-hero, Mumtaz Kashmiri; the wife of his best friend, Murad Badshah; his drug supplier, while Aurangzeb “Ozi” Shah, Daru’s best friend is a secondary character.

The book is mostly a monologue coming from Daru but other chapters are a series of flashbacks narrated by different characters giving great insight into them, and one even putting you in the shoes of an overworked judge in session at court.

Daru’s childhood best friend Ozi has come back from the States after many years with an attractive wife on one arm and a child in the other. Ozi is the son of a corrupt wealthy man, who was Daru’s patron, a typical by-product of a politically corrupt society.

“…bigger cars have the right of way.”

Daru loses his job, and with that his self-esteem and his shaky position on the fringes of Lahore’s elite society.

Mumtaz and Daru are drawn to each other from the moment they meet, both like a moth to a flame, torn between desire and the people they hold dear and feel obligated to.

It is the story of a man unable to deal with his circumstances and his social status, and whose sense of entitlement, envy, disdain and haughtiness leads him to his own inevitable destruction.

The novel is about social hierarchy, lust, depravity, drugs, unemployment, addiction, obsession and the corruption in third world countries where the rich feed on poor like vultures.

What I can definitely say about this novel is less is more. One very interesting and simple but witty part of the novel was using air conditioning as the control factor between the elites and the masses. The characters were very raw, well-thought and deftly constructed. The writing was not only arresting but thought-provoking.

The end of the novel was poetically just in my opinion but still, it leaves you hanging, unable to decide.
“When the uncertain future becomes the past, the past, in turn, becomes uncertain.”