Of Nostalgia and the rains

On most days, I feel like I'm pretty strong.
But on days like these, I marvel at how I manage to fool myself.

All I want to do right now, is curl into a big arm chair with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, so I can have you sit next to me and talk about all the things I love, while watch that rain go pitter-patter from my window sill.

Funny thing this nostalgia.
It makes the most disconnected souls crave for familiarity and for love.

I remembered to forget the end.

The words unwritten

The words unsaid

The incomplete conversations

They come back in my head

And I find myself yearning

For the familiarity of that smoky smell

Craving for the touch

That can take me to heaven and to hell

And then the treacherous lies

Comes back to me

I see the end of the road

Through a hazy smokescreen

I fumble to collect the pieces

As they fall apart in front of me

May be I can’t remember the end

Because it wasn’t meant to be

Do you remember that day?

Do you remember that rainy Monday afternoon.
It wasn't just another Monday afternoon was it?
It certainly didn't feel like that.
Not after what you told me the night before.

It was also the day I wore my new jeans with my Scottish pinafore.
I couldn't stop ranting about it.
It was so easy to talk to you about the most random things.
So easy infact, I don't think I gave you a chance to talk at all that day.
I knew you wanted to say something.
I wish I had let you say it.

Then we stepped out for a bit.
It was a break from the study session.
Never mind that the 'studies' bit was an just another excuse to see each other.
I had the irresistible urge to grab your hand and pull you into the rain.
I didn't know what I liked more...
The thought of feeling the rain on my skin or walking by your side in what seemed like the most magical rain of the season.

But you grabbed my hand and pulled me into the car instead.
You said something about not wanting me to wander alone in the rain.
And then you looked at me like you were about to say the same things you did the night before.
I know I wanted you to say them.
Though I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear them yet.
I don't know why we were always so unsure of ourselves.

I keep wondering till this day if things would have turned out differently, had I grabbed your hand and taken you away instead.
The 14 of Feb, is just around the corner, and I don't know if I should say this, but I'm going to miss you a little even if I deny it.

Because you are not him.

                                             (The picture is for representational purposes only)

She looked at him and then looked away.
She didn't have the right answer to his question.
"Why do you keep pushing me away?"
That's the only answer he'd ever asked for.
That's the only answer she could never give him.

Everytime a boy made his move, she'd find herself feeling extremely queasy.
She felt the urge to push him away befor he made his way into the forbidden territory.
He doesn't belong here.
That's what she'd tell herself.

She wasn't afraid of letting people in.
And it wasn't love she was afraid of.
It's just that she still loved him too much.
It's funny how time and space changed none of that.

And that boy sitting in front of her...
He was perfect.
He really was.
But there was just one problem.

He was not him.
He was just not him.