2015, Passages

Not made for each other.

You see those two people standing in the room? One a figure so delicate it looks almost breakable, her sight stretched to faraway lands as she gazes from the frosty window; beyond past, present, or to-be. The other stands by the foot of their bed and stares plaintively at the floor, or sometimes at the creased cover-sheets on the bed which they both use. His hand is in his hair.

These two people—I don’t call them a couple. I call them apologies.

You will see now that the man will walk to the window, slowly, and stop a foot away from her. Then he will put his hand on her shoulder. She will turn back immediately, but not too quickly, and they will both just stand there for a moment until she realizes that he is smiling–that his smile contains every bit of sorrow there is in the world–and then she’ll smile too. Hers will be weaker, like something one would give after accepting the uncaring atrocity of life every day, but neither of them would care.

This will be done casually every other day.

You will find that the space of nothing between them has sucked air so much that in order to breathe, you will have to struggle. You will notice that it doesn’t affect them.

You will find that their eyes are empty but their hearts aren’t. They sympathize sometimes, like they did a while ago, and silently assure one another that it is not and will not be okay, but they will see to it until the end. They won’t complain nor hate. Sometimes he would kiss her lightly on the cheek and she would smile. (A year ago she would’ve had spent hours in the bathroom scrubbing, scratching away the kiss and crying. But this doesn’t happen now.)

You will see that it’s not regret that has settled in as a mountain between them. It’s not a grudge that has separated their ways like a sea in between. It’s not the absence of effort. It’s not that. But it still is.

 

That is the future I see of ourselves. Pardon me for saying so but it’s true.

Standard
2013, By the roaring waves!, Paintings and Scribblings, Poems and poetry

10 reasons why I hate you!

I hate you because:
you were never there when and where
I wanted you to be.

I hate you because:
you never spoke a single lie,
but left me craving to hear.

I hate you because:
you never showed you cared
though you were aware of it all.

I hate you because:
you never told me about you
and never heard about me.

I hate you because:
you left me to live in that dark alley
and never turned back to see.

I hate you because:
you knew my music by heart
yet you never played those notes.

I hate you because:
you were the only torchbearer
yet you never showed it this path.

I hate you because:
you could have been my savior
yet you chose to teach the hard way.

I hate you because:
I can never hate you
No matter how hard I try to.

ihateyoubymaria

Standard
2013, By the roaring waves!, My Writings, Poems and poetry

Unsaid, undone. Untitled shall it be.

“Haters are confused admirers who don’t understand why so many people love you…”

– Paulo Coelho

There is just a THIN distance to border love and hate!

I think I agree. There is just a thin brink between them! Change in perspectives is a matter of minutes, or maybe seconds. You hate someone from the cores and a sudden miracle can change what you feel. You might begin to admire them as soon as you understand their point of view, or maybe their situations.

Everybody has their person hidden. They can not allow you to know them completely. And this may cause them in failing to be up to your expectations. Expectations are sensitive buds.Why create a mirror of hopes and anticipation when your previous mirror had a scratch?

Problem is with the people who trust very easily, like I do.

Thoughts are faster than light or sound. Change is a matter of minutes. Or a matter of incidents. Trust people, they deserve it. But don’t trust too much, nor too easily, for you don’t deserve a shattered mirror of hopes and dreams.

Never fail to express to the people you care, that you do. Nothing is more painful than things left unsaid.

© Maria Imran

© Maria ~ Randomly Abstract.

Standard