A boy's journey through words and the mixtapes. I write every Thursday.
every now and then, I pause for a bit.
and as I rest, I close my eyes and unweave, cool a bit, loose.
i force draw all my dear attention.
i set myself free.
i embark to embrace and take whatever it is mine.
breaths. thoughts. the body, soul.
… the whole universe.
every now and then, I close my eyes.
and slowly, feebly, i hear my own heartbeats over and over.
i hear, they sing of you.
i know, they are you.
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stop it!
just fucking stop this nonsense.
… don’t fucking hurt yourself anymore.
… don’t be too much an apologetic jewel.
don’t fucking think about the self-prophesied emptiness, caused by
the consequences of thoughts, someone deliberately threw or forced into your life.
don’t fucking blame anyone, not even yourself.
don’t you fucking think out loud.
stop complaining for fuck sake.
stop search for validations and approvals.
most importantly,
don’t fuck yourself up with constant doubts, dilemma, disappointments, dissatisfaction; don’t you let anyone either.
best, hack your feelings.
best, love. live. let go.
habituate.
don’t swear too much!
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i thought you were irreplaceable,
and so my life irredeemable, a withered nightmare after you.
but as it turns out,
everything decays past hopes and dreams and the wild heart.
even you.
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who’d take care of me?
when my heart is full, and broken, and dumb, and deaf.
who’d take care of me?
when my mind sinks deeper than the black, and turns coldest than the ice.
who’d save me?
when i can’t see the start but only the finish line.
who’d save me?
when my days and the nights, gives me nothing but pain and pain and more pains.
me.
me can.
me must.
me would.
me is the answer.
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in each breathe i take, I also take a little bit of pain inside me.
sometimes i even felt like breathing only farts, only pains.
venting. regretting.
so dark. so dull. so difficult.
so thick, so much for a small heart.
life’s hard, life’s fu*king hard.
because, to be honest, i don’t feel the warmth of the sunrise anymore but only the chills of the killing night. every where i look around i see paper people; policing me, threatening me, judging me, people who grab me by their monstrous hands, tie both my legs dead tight and ask me — shouting at me to soar, to fly, to smile!
because, everyday is a new drama, everyday a new episode slowly unfolding, and I am no actor like them. i am just a girl trying to live a little happy, a little light with all that i have, with all that i am.
i have come to the point where I feel my life has been a total waste, an irreversible mess.
i have come to the point where I feel I am my only company, the i, who is crying, i who is hopeless, i who is scared, i who is alone, i who is losing. i who is dead within but pretending to be strong.
i have come to the point where i don’t want to wake up the next day and just disappear in a long peaceful sleep for the rest of my life.
i have come to the point where i feel i am done.
sometimes i ask of god for a friend, the mirror soul who’d understand me, the one who’d laugh with me in my happy days with all sincerity, the one who’d grieve with me at all the sad ones too; that him, that her, the it, who’d listen to me, listen to all my complains, all my thoughts, ideas, conflicts, confusions and still love me. someone who’d be there for me, always, unasked.
sometimes i ask of god for someone who’d give me a big, the fattest bear hug and bare with me as i cry and cry — as i spread myself thin, as i weigh out my sorry heart.
life’s hard. life’s f**cking hard.
:
:
amid all the circus, a voice fights as someone wisely said, so what! so fu*king what!
this isn’t the finish line yet,
this isn’t the end of the world yet.
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she weeps,
and my eyes bleed.
she smiles,
and this heart beats fast, fast,
the time numbs down low, slow.
i didn’t know. i did not know,
that she has become a part of me,
the piece that’ll never be mine, ever.
she is beautiful,
she is warm,
she is broken,
she is strong.
she is free.
she is mine.
Comments closedshe hates me.
and hating … is fine by me.
hate is just as titled, as strong, as delicate and as pure as the indescribable feel of love is.
i understand, hate is an unearned love,
but sometimes also an aftermath of one or many painful, insoluble misunderstandings.
i can understand, honey!
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happy birthday to you bijay shrestha
happy birthday to you bishow shrestha.
i wish the heaven for you while you are still alive and dreaming and beating.
may you be more hardworking, engaging, and persistent and driven.
may you learn more and the mosts — especially on important life’s basics like family, friendship, love, purpose, et cetera.
may you be more bold and courageous, and the man of words, trust and promises.
may you have more of priceless sleeping hours each day,
may you have good health physically as well as spiritually, and mentally,
may you be more happy, more generous, humble and wise and cheerful,
may you have more and more opportunities knocking at your doorstep and enough agility to acknowledge them and seize each,
and as you befall, as you move ahead in life, as the number of hours you’ve lived grow gracefully; may you be more and more amusing, evergreen and affluent with comical humor along with the added maturity of taking and handling things responsibly,
may you always know your shits,
may you never forget how beautiful, and how special you are, ever. forever.
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she is the likes of the northern lights. the galaxy of a thousand-billion stars,
Not without flaws, not without quirks and secrets, not ever perfect, not without anything more human or less,
but still so much more, only for the eyes blessed.
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