Dully turning 19 in two hours. 

It doesn't feel great. 

Like blue-knickers in a garden full of butterflies.

I'm happy today. Beyond all that un-satisfaction that I'm dealing with, I'm genuinely happy.
Do you notice my new header?
Do you like it?
I absolutely love it. It is so me, and it has been designed by Kanika of Sensitive Chaos for me. I absolutely love, adore, envy [strictly for how talented she is] this girl. And now I love her even more. Thanks Kay, here's the GRAND-EST hug ever.

Also, Isha from Chaai, Paani, Etc. has just dropped the very prestigious Chai-Paani award on my lap.

I feel so special.
Thank you. I wish I could personally send you heart shaped chocolates.

P. S. “Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh," he whispered. 

"Yes, Piglet?" 

"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw, "I just wanted to be sure of you."

Yes, I'm talking about you. You know, who. 

Mmmmm.

Quivering love.

Magnificent thoughts come to mind as I try to infuse meaning to a life that's been engulfed by your presence from all sides. And I haven't even started.
You're the lover, in awe of whom I am in those movements when you're too lustful for me to say anything, remotely important.
When we shall be sailing in dreams of pleasure, you may come lie next to me, take my hand in yours, and whisper the important-ness of life. How together is only with each other, and how pleasure can only be fathomed only in each other's arms and the realms of the bed-sheet. How love exists in the pleasure following thus. You may also tell me, how much you love me, occasionally. You see, my soul-wrenching-best-friend, I want to feel your love and touch it. My hearing shall be numb, either way. I want to feel your jealousy, not by how cold and distant it makes you feel, but how animalistic and wild it makes you. Not by how you slowly make your way to the door, but how strongly you tug at my skin. My skin. It lies dead in your absence. It occupies its space, waves out a high to strangers, but is dead in its deep recesses. It is your skin to mine that shall bring it to life. Your breath to mine that shall awaken that strange soul that does not bare itself to the common.
I have realised, miracles do not happen. They come in people. In lean people, with a weird gum to teeth ratio and addidas shoes.
You unravel the wild side in me like a mother, the hunger in her child. Carefully, with full of love. And as I quiver with rage and beguiling sexuality, you sit like a patient observer holding a baby in arms.
You've been doing great, my friend.
I suggest, we hug now. And a kiss shall follow.

How long is too long? And how little is too little?
I think I'll go grab myself happiness and save it in a sealed bottle.

P. S. Tomorrow shalt be the day that I write, a real post.

Simple things

On why childhood and Charlie Brown make more sense now, than they ever did. 

Of criss-crossed games,
and thwarting emotions.

I'd give my heart to subtle contentment.

How long can I lie aslant consumed by the chasm of emptiness?

Dear, not-so-content-lover-of-mine, will you accept me for my skewed up cynicism, and my need to be victimised? 

I need a distraction, as the very thoughts are consuming my head day in and day out.

Perhaps, the concept of forever is a myth, and I sit here, laughing out loud at my spirited naivety. Like the old aunty would say, "How innocent!".

"How true!"

And I can sift back and forth of real and unreal, of thoughts in my head and the real world sarcasm.

What a joke have you made of yourself?

Perfection is a disembodied feeling, you fool.

Laugh out loud, as perhaps, that's the only way your heartaches will be neglected.

The need for venting out has been quenched.

Suspiro ergo sum. 

I need to calm the fuck down.