empty postcards and emptier crosswords

by 21:07 1 comments

(i) I’ve been trying to write a letter to you since the past three months and there’s never been so much music and so much silence in the same seconds. 

(ii) I breathe you through my music and you live through my heartbeat. Kissing you feels like unwriting a song, the lyrics of which I‘ve forgotten. Kissing you is like drowning, though I know how to swim. I’ve always been afraid of the ocean, so I've pretended that I know how to swim, ever since I was seven. 

(iii) The constellations feel like chords to your favourite songs, and it’s getting louder out here. I wish I hadn’t broken the record player, that you got me for my last birthday. there are thirteen different CD’s that I know the tracks to, better than breathing, that refuse to burn. I burn your photographs and I forget how to breathe. So I got a tattoo in the shape of your heartbeat, it’s not all the same. 

(iv) as a kid, I used to count the number of yellow coloured buses on the roads and I always thought that this world did not have enough yellow coloured buses so I started sketching them and making music out of them. Twenty one different shades of yellow in three different sketchbooks, as I trapped as much sunshine as I could, in the pages of those books. The lighter yellow coloured buses were acoustic songs, whose lyrics I wrote at the back of your hands and the darker ones were symphonies that I could never really understand. Like you. 

(v) when my sketches did not feel like music enough, I started strumming on days it rained and it never rained enough for me to be louder than your laughter. And damn, did I want to drown your laughter in the beats of a song that I can never clearly remember! 

(vi) it’s 8:16 pm on a sunday and I have a list of words that I want to say to you. So I made a crossword out of them, and struck out all the letters that are in your name. I’ve made a map out of them now, that feels more lost that I ever could. 

(vii) I’ve made a habit out of collecting words and making poetry out of people. there are nine different grocery lists hidden in the drawers of my bedside table, that remind me how strange it feels to have everything I need and be exactly where I need to be, and still not belong.

(viii) I’ve been trying to write a letter to you since the past three months and there is so much that I could say to you and music that I could send. Yet, all I post are empty postcards with stamps and sometimes, I wonder, if that’s how it ends. 

//empty postcards and emptier crosswords 

Today completes 4 years of a home, 4 years of a little poetic blog! It’s been an absolutely beautiful journey, thank you for being a part of it and making it what it was! 

Hope you stay! 

1 comment:

  1. Thank you for this blog.

    Don't know about anything but this blog has been a very important part of my life.

    Hope you always continue.