love, laughter, pain, joy, life and its lessons, one word at a time



In between the lines.


I would have never even known it was there.
If the waterfall of cascading books in the attic had not revealed all.
It sat in all it’s past glory, full of secrets, yet so humble.
Brown, it’s spine bent, in a cloud of dust, a diary with a yielding lock
I unlocked a life.
I unlocked memories.
I unlocked more than even it’s lock thought it knew.
Dog eared pages folded away the remainders of busy days when there were so many other important things to do.
Brown, crumpled pages, that were mangled in the rush of life.
Amoeba shaped stains that were born while lip smacking recipes were being discovered.
That musty smell that wraps up memories in a warm blanket of reminiscings.
Different coloured inks dipped in myriad emotions of the author.
Scribbles, doodles that dotted many corners full of mental meanderings.
Daily accounts of pockets full and then emptied mercilessly, telling tales of sometimes a king and sometimes a pauper.
How can a bunch of pages be so vocal in the most utter silence?
How can they write the beginning an end of someone’s story, an entire life?
Who are you? Will I meet you some day around the corner of a street?
We might be strangers but I know you so well.
I walked 200 pages of your life, not a soul will I tell.



I feel like a shadow today.
Dark, shapeless,voiceless,changing with the light that falls around me.
I walk the streets that I used to know.
Looking in the window, my nose pressed and flattened, my hands spread out,
Wondering what it had felt like being inside.
I am not happy. I am not sad. Just blank.
Waiting for something to happen something to change.
I can make a bird on that wall with my fingers but I doubt it will fly.
I am whole visibly, I certainly look it, but it’s not the same inside.
I could be a mindless doodle but I’m glad I’m atleast a shadow of what I used to be.
Maybe soon, very soon, around a corner, I will find a bright light.
The shadow will melt and I will be myself again.

Feelings in transit


I get the distinct feeling that I am forever pining.
It makes me weary, melancholy,but it is often a sweet pain.
Sometimes it creeps up on me at a coffee shop.
Swirling along with the steam from my mug, flashes of another one shared with someone a long time ago.
It follows me down a familiar street, where our carefree spirits roamed.
Our laughter, ennui and immaturity bringing a knowing smile of rememberance.
It seeps out through a familiar handwriting.
Bringing with it black and white peppered pictures of a faceless someone who made reading something somewhere very special.
An old tattered place that was home, grips my heart with familiarity and joy.
The halls echoing with muted shrieks of laughter and admonishment from loved ones,my heart echoing the deafening silence in the absence of those voices.
A rough old weathered hand makes me think of someone who made me, I want to hold on, never let go.
There is happiness all around, fireworks in the sky. Then why is it that there is a corridor in my heart always trapped in the memories of years gone by.

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