Monday, December 28, 2009

Stories of shooting stars.

Day One.

I think I'm glad you're gone. You were the one who sent the last email saying you'd be away for a while which doesnt even make sense, but you need to want me more than you seem to and I think you don't so you don't deserve me. I'm smart, I'm beautiful and I'm sure as hell wanted. So I can't deal with your bull crap anymore. Good riddance. You're impossible, anyway. I don't know how that was why I loved you in the first place.

Day Two.

Remember how you agreed to finally watch New Moon with me? Well, guess what? I dont need you anymore. I went and saw it on my own today. Granted, I had to buy my own tickets and stand in the queue for my own popcorn and I could not remember which popcorn we usually had so I ordered something else which turned out to be pretty disgusting. The couple sitting next to me were holding hands and I could throw up on them and then I remembered your loathsome sardonic smile as you would look at me stricken in the cinema, feeling the hurt of people who didn't exist. And I especially hated the way you threw you arm around my shoulder as you pulled me close and the way your nimble fingers fitted so perfectly between mine.

I saw Edward leave Bella and I cried. I saw him propose and I cried more.

I made a complete fool of myself in a hall full of people because the soppy little vampire high school romance and total chick flick reminded me of you. I went home full of self-pity and a lot of hatred for you.

Day Four

I told myself that going to the places we used to eat will not hurt. I told myself it was immature and unreasonable. So I walked down Fleet Street, put in too much broccoli in the salad bowl, avoided the spring onions, and had the usual garlic oil, prawns and noodles combination.
"Extra spicy," I found myself saying
"Just one today?" The Jamaican chef smiled.
"Just one today." I repeated blandly.

Then why does this hurt?

Day six and we're not talking.

Today I got lost in the streets of London. The tube stations were closed and I didn't know which bus to take. It was dark and deserted, there were men with their caps hanging low on their faces. People get mugged. People get raped. The streets had alien names. Technically, you weren't mine anymore so I could not call you. Like you were much of a phone-person anyway.
"Try to think how you got here," you'd say if you were reasonable- which you weren't.
Got on a wrong bus, walked a couple of miles in the wrong direction, that was a no-brainer.
This wasn't helping. And I was scared because I didn't know what to do because you had spoiled me.
I know what you would have said.
"Are you out of your fucking mind? I told you to never NEVER wander out on your own in the dark.."
But in the dark it's easy to pretend and I needed you off my mind.
"..Look for the nearest Mc Donalds or Subway or any other fucking place to eat and ask them for their post code. I'm coming for you.."
You were always coming for me, there for me.
"And don't you dare hang up the fucking phone till I fucking get there."
I hated hated HATED how you swore.

I took a cab home that night. Fortunately and unknowingly, a black cab and it cost me two days worth food allowance.
You'd have flipped out just for that. You know how that story goes.
"You took a fucking cab? Do you know how many people get raped in illegal cabs!! Why do you do this to me?"
You would have thrown things around screamed at no one in particular then have gotten mad at yourself. You're disillusioned, paranoid, excessively overprotective and also usually right.

I came back and cried.

Day Nine.

Why can't you just stay in my past?

Day Thirteen.

Just. Come. Back. I'm barely breathing.

You're all these amazing things on one hand and on the other, you have no realistic goals, no ambition. You're self-destructive. And then you smoke up. And you do drugs. And you say you love me and you love me right and you get me and you know just what to say and you know just what to do.

You've held me throughout but that does not make you good for me.
Work for me.
Dream for me.
Marry me.
Have children with me.
Have a life with me.
Grow old with me.

But we don't seem to have a future together.

Is that enough reason to let you go?


  1. Cracked my ribs open, left my heart exposed.

  2. I'm going through the same and trust me, it hurts like a bitch but you'll get through, you will absolutely get through soon.

    It may seem like a long and lonely road ahead but there are many people out there who will tag along, things will better and this will seem trivial.

    I don't know if this means much but this little thingy I wrote might help you understand what I'm trying to say:

    I'll be checking your blog more often. It's nice. :)

  3. Oy vey.
    Reading this while listening to Damien Rice was just painful. *hug*

  4. This was good, beyond good actually. =)