Its been quiet the enervating week. From driving down Bangalore roads at 1:00 a.m. to dinner plans that ALWAYS run late to waiting around dull corners at dull streets with only Steven Wilson and the Bellamy boy for company - I long for a bed that's just mine.
V thinks I get carried away too easily. It's true to a point. I need something else to focus on than people. Which is why I am starting driving lessons next week. Apart from the reason that I need to learn to drive so I can soonly get a car and then shall I terrorize the pedestrians of the city. -smirk-
The days are spinning out of my hand in quick succession, leaping out in reds and greens and transcient blacks and I keep running into a giant wall every time I even begin to wonder if all this is heading somewhere. I should be home. The hidden blue walls, that green curtain that hides just about nothing, the quilt that is never dry, Slash calling to me from over my head, the flame throwing pink lamp, Chai's presence in absence, Mum's impish grin, Dad's giant hugs - it's all tugging incessantly but here I am, convinced that my place is here, in this city that refuses to let me be.
And you sang last evening. Something fervent, something tragic, something yearning. Dewdrop smiles and split second laughter. All captured and stored. You are the only reason I'm still here. It's strange that what gives meaning to this moment, is the same reason that's leading me away from any semblance of reality or normalcy, rendering my existence quiet obsolete for now. Maybe it's my imagination. Maybe it's you. Maybe it's Fate. Yeah right.
And it's the same fuckin night but a different song. It's as if I never left your room - that room where the sunlight is always too much. I kept my promise, you see. I stood up for who I believed I am. But you laugh. And I cant stop foolishly admitting my love to you, like you don't already know, like you haven't thrown it back in my face. It's a broken world I suppose - a million little pieces in a pool of dark velvety blood that's oozing out of a collective heart. It's a dead baby lying in its crimson cradle.
And the music doesn't leave me still. Like my pulse that refuses to stop even if I pretend to live - it refuses to pretend to die. It follows me within every person I love. In you- with your gorgeous hair and big puppy eyes and the scars that haunt. In you - my storyteller from beyond, my soulcruiser. In you - the pretty boy with a guitar and the goofiest little grin. And in you - my friend, my mentor, the boy who'll never die. So if one of you could pick me up from where I'm sitting here and point me to where I need to be, I'll follow the music and be alright somehow.
That I couldn't protect you from getting hurt was hard enough to deal with. Knowing that I'm a part of everything that's breaking you slowly, has killed my fickle heart one last time.
And if I could be who you wanted, if I was the boy you think I am, I would hold you in my arms, look after you and NEVER let you out of my sight.
I see you and I see you are fragile. Yet like the last leaf that will never fly, you are resilient. I imagine your heart, punctured and brimming with all things beautiful, all things hope. And if you would believe just for a second that you are the most gorgeous woman I know, if you could just love yourself the way I loved you that night in the midst of all that chaos, I would rest easy for that one second and be happy.
I've felt your scars, both inside and out. I have felt them throbbing, a pattern of your heart on your skin, I've felt them cry out. And as the moon drew a path across us, you sat next to me, weary, cold and so far away in your head that you probably never heard a word I said. And what could I have said that could have changed the way you felt?