A name your name is such an intimate thing. One that makes me ambitious to call you with all my might, with all my rights. The passion hidden is fiery like the chimney in my cottage with the collected heat touching every part of my being. A throne, I’d rule half and half in the vapor of dreams. A fantasy drawn, for I am a writer who has the right to get down at the wrong station and vision the bright cheek in the land of deserts and kiss all the way. A mirage of love and your name as a new city…
You’d let me dance on a grass blade and I will treat you with ripe mangoes. You’d let me bathe in an orange light on top of a sycamore tree and I will arouse the need of staying within you. You’d sing to a hummingbird to come and rest on my hand and I will remove the synonym of ‘burn’ from your name. You’d not instigate my fossil memories like winters and I will carry your mountains until the Autumn arrives. You’d touch my flesh with a light breeze and I will plant a bunch of Pansies after naming you Spring’s sister. When you shall love me and I shall add you as my ‘things to do’ in all the days to come in my life.
Remember we promised, we’d feel each other and you might burn my cheeks with too much tenderness. Remember we promised, We’d keep each other company and you might shine one more day while counting dying breaths.
O Dear Summer! Let’s meet over the hills. Let’s meet in the backyard. Let’s accept that we had been in cold for far too long. For, it’s time for some blushing warmth.
She is nothing. Nothing but a window to your relatability, ‘cause you know she leaves a part of herself, in your jacket’s pocket so you could keep your hands warm a little longer.
She likes living on the edge. A night with some satin dreams and a drunken Sunday debauchery dipped in the ink of suffocation fueling her desire to drown or stay afloat. It’s her ask that matters. Like, the one who truly knows Art has touched the highest level of ecstasy or have swam in the deepest oceans of melancholy believing no one could save them except maybe art, maybe her.
She is a girl that deserves Keanu Reeves of the world but gets caught up in her head after Jane Austen whispers to get Mr. Darcy tattooed on her collarbones and then make her wear buttoned-up, long checkered shirt and she closes herself like the last break-up no one wants to talk about.
She wishes to travel back to history so bad and become an inspiration or a revolution for Renoir’s ‘Impressionism’ or Gogh’s ‘Fauvism’ where the artist would run his free strokes and strong colors painting her aesthetic away.
Everything is a rhythmic downpour of poetry for her. Open trees passing by from a train window, pretty boxes of delivery, crunchy pages of diaries, an infant smiling, green eyes of strangers, tiniest grass sprouting in her cemented balcony, flowers on the sideways pouting and demanding her to be clicked. She listens to all. She looks a little too deeper in the eyes of her pet just to understand a world hidden beneath silent cries.
She can make friends in a blink of an eye but can’t handle the awkwardness of the first meetings, neither the discomfort of visible distance with her old people. So, she keeps jealousy in her side bag existent but unnoticeable and laughs louder just to prove how their silly jokes means world to her. And she holds hand just a bit tighter announcing to her body of the crime she’s about to commit in keeping the ones closer who are destined to leave.
In a world pressing to be unique she becomes relatable with every passing day. The more she understands herself the better she sees the human race. The unprocessed, patchy race whose thumbnails tell a different story than they actually are. In a world full of intellectuals, she keeps looking for people she can be silly with.
She dangles, in between a timid Kdrama girl and a badass one not fitting fully in either of the category well. In between, wanting to get on top of everything and losing interest in everything around sitting in front of a fading fireplace and singing ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’ in the faintest voice.
She wishes she could erase the problems of all When she can’t do much for her own.
She is nothing special. And if you will get to know you will see either she’s nothing or too special for the world.