tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53971511865254838762024-03-05T14:03:35.937-08:00DramaSutraUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-8171775809815108782021-03-19T11:25:00.002-07:002021-03-19T11:25:47.136-07:00Empty Spaces<p><br /></p><p>What do I miss?</p><p>Let's see...</p><p>I miss sitting by the window seat of a plane</p><p>Staring into the clouds set ablaze by a sun I can't see</p><p><br /></p><p>The thrill of visiting a new place...country, food, people, music</p><p>Getting lost in a whole different world</p><p><br /></p><p>Struggling to hear my friends over the din of a Friday night at my favourite pub</p><p>Waving wildly to catch the attention of the bartender for that next chilled stout</p><p><br /></p><p>Living out of a suitcase (yes I actually miss that!)</p><p>And griping about working across timezones</p><p><br /></p><p>And I miss you...</p><p>Getting lost in those moments</p><p>As you held me close</p><p>And made me yours</p><p><br /></p><p>Holding hands, sometimes just touching fingers...</p><p>But always, always conscious of each other</p><p><br /></p><p>I've never minded isolation, or relied too much on proximity</p><p>But the separation sometimes kills me</p><p>Even years later</p><p>When all I want...is to kiss you.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-79864667633689617082021-03-19T11:07:00.002-07:002021-03-19T11:27:09.496-07:00<p><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px;">I expect you to...</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Have adventures</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Fall in love</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Get your hearts broken</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Have sex with the wrong people</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Have sex with the right people</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Make mistakes<br />Make amends</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Take a leap</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Make a splash</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Unleash holy hell on anyone who tries to hold you back</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">~ The Bold Type</p>Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-32577134972643182682018-08-10T11:59:00.001-07:002018-08-10T12:00:40.177-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“If a man is only as good as his word, </div>
<div class="p1">
then I want to marry a man with a vocabulary like yours.</div>
<div class="p1">
The way you say dicey and delectable and octogenarian<br />
in the same sentence — that really turns me on.<br />
The way you describe the oranges in your backyard<br />
using anarchistic and intimate in the same breath.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I would follow the legato and staccato of your tongue </div>
<div class="p1">
wrapping around your diction </div>
<div class="p1">
until listening become more like dreaming </div>
<div class="p1">
and dreaming became more like kissing you.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I want to jump off the cliff of your voice </div>
<div class="p1">
into the suicide of your stream of consciousness. </div>
<div class="p1">
I want to visit the place in your heart where the wrong words die. </div>
<div class="p1">
I want to map it out with a dictionary and points </div>
<div class="p1">
of brilliant light until it looks more like a star chart </div>
<div class="p1">
than a strategy for communication. </div>
<div class="p1">
I want to see where your words are born. </div>
<div class="p1">
I want to find a pattern in the astrology.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I want to memorize the scripts of your seductions. </div>
<div class="p1">
I want to live in the long-winded epics of your disappointments, </div>
<div class="p1">
in the haiku of your epiphanies. </div>
<div class="p1">
I want to know all the names you’ve given your desires. </div>
<div class="p1">
I want to find my name among them,</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
‘cause there is nothing more wrecking sexy than the right word. </div>
<div class="p1">
I want to thank whoever told you </div>
<div class="p1">
there was no such thing as a synonym. </div>
<div class="p1">
I want to throw a party for the heartbreak </div>
<div class="p1">
that turned you into a poet.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
And if it is true that a man is only as good as his word </div>
<div class="p1">
then, sweet jesus, let me be there </div>
<div class="p1">
the first time you are speechless, </div>
<div class="p1">
and all your explosive wisdom becomes </div>
<div class="p1">
a burning ball of sun in your throat, </div>
<div class="p1">
and all you can bring yourself to utter is, oh god, oh god.”</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">―</span> Mindy Nettifee</div>
</div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-66740862538511160242018-08-10T11:56:00.002-07:002018-08-10T11:56:50.632-07:00Boomerang<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="p1">
Coming back home is like traveling in a time machine.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Does it happen to others as well? I guess it does.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I step into my room, and I’m transported to 1999. 2000.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
It’s like the there is a whole other me just sitting in that room, waiting. To greet the older me, to remind her of who she used to be.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
All the old memories, the old feelings, the dreams - it all comes rushing back. So visceral that I can feel it like it’s part of my present. I can taste those moments on the tip of my tongue, my fingers.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Like time has just stopped, waiting for me to catch up instead of the other way round.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
And my room, the smell, the photographs, the hidden mementos tucked away at the back of a locked up drawer with its rusty hidden key are all waiting alongside.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
And I’m back again.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
In that life, in that love, in that space between staying young and growing up, innocence and heartbreak, moving on and forever staying still.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Almost like I am still that silly, naive girl. Like I never really left.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-31085648440616712152017-12-22T00:58:00.002-08:002017-12-22T00:58:44.480-08:00Pandora's Box<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-size: small;">Has it ever happened to you that you've successfully buried some not so pleasant incident from your past deep into the recesses of your mind. When you can spend most days pretending it didn't happen, or that it doesn't matter? Or when you can get away with distracting yourself every time the thought comes up.<br />
</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-size: small;">And then someone reopens that conversation. In a well meaning way perhaps. In a bid to get answers which all along you thought you didn't need. And now, suddenly, it's all you can think about. And you're not only left wondering and questioning, you're also overnight, seemingly incapable of shutting it down, of shoving those thoughts back into that safe little box where they had resided for so long. Now the box is no longer a corner of your mind, it's like your whole head. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-size: small;">You made the mistake of having a conversation. And now your head won't shut up. You tried to give answers. You're left with more questions.<br />
</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Closure is overrated. Especially when it's one-sided. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-3684426657519911902017-12-22T00:54:00.000-08:002017-12-22T00:54:38.622-08:00Shadows<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
I'm scared that I'll forget what it was like<br />
<br />
To feel my breath hitch when it comes in contact with yours<br />
My head tucked into the nook of your throat<br />
Breathing in that smell that is all yours<br />
<br />
I'm scared that I'll not remember your smell<br />
That reminds me of intimacy<br />
that calms my heart and speeds it up at the same time<br />
<br />
Today I only need to close my eyes - and sometimes not even that<br />
And I can recall so vividly what it feels like<br />
Your kiss, your hands, the shape of your body against mine<br />
<br />
And I'm so scared of only having these memories<br />
And those memories dimming with time<br />
Of those sensations becoming intangible. Smoke-like<br />
<br />
What if one day I can no longer remember?<br />
What if I only think I do?<br />
But those memories, painted by time, are far removed from what used to be<br />
you and me?<br />
<br />
What if I only remember a fantasy?<br />
When you have been my biggest reality...<br />
<br />
I don't want to search in my mind for those darkened evenings<br />
When you heard you whisper my name against my mouth<br />
I want to remember the cadence of your heartbeat...so familiar against my ear<br />
<br />
I want to remember the exact words you said - sometimes unexpected, always precious <br />
The dips and planes my fingers traced<br />
The sound of that throaty laughter of yours<br />
<br />
But I think it will be difficult<br />
When I can't seem to remember to smile myself<br />
<br />
How do I hold on to you. Us? <br />
Can you help me? Just help me remember?<br />
<br />
Because I'm so scared that I'll forget. And scared that I never will.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-6202186585803534472017-12-22T00:50:00.003-08:002017-12-22T00:58:57.459-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
Desire is easy to fight.<br />
Especially when the only weapon desire possesses is attraction.<br />
<br />
It's not so easy when you're trying to win a war against the heart.<br />
<br />
~ Maybe Someday<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-43830632735907640392017-09-07T23:58:00.002-07:002017-09-08T00:00:52.135-07:00The Slow Regard of Silent Things <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The touch of an imaginary finger</div>
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Smoothening away the furrows on my brow</div>
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The spaces in between the lines I write</div>
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The grey areas that fight my black & white</div>
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<br /></div>
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The intense concentration of silence</div>
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As it listens to what I leave unspoken</div>
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<br /></div>
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My fingers that clench into fists</div>
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A mirror that shows me the truth</div>
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My pillow that hugs me to sleep</div>
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The red lipstick that kisses my mouth</div>
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<br /></div>
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A life that's surrounded by the inanimate</div>
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That has more life...than my life itself</div>
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Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-32699358388585155942017-08-01T03:49:00.000-07:002017-08-01T03:49:22.753-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you’ve been mean to someone, they won’t believe the nice anymore.<br />
<br />
So be nice, be nice, until it’s time to stop being nice, then destroy them.<br />
<br />
— Laurell K. Hamilton</div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-86900795258565323292017-03-20T11:35:00.001-07:002017-03-20T11:35:42.856-07:00Late night musings...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Another night, another city, another hotel room<br />
The view is great from my 26th floor window<br />
Inside my head, not so much<br />
<br />
It's strange<br />
How I spend my days on flights nowadays<br />
And my life rooted to the past<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Dreams that were simple<br />
And now seem completely out of reach<br />
Over compensating with meaningless triumphs </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
An Instagram feed that speaks of great adventures<br />
And friends in every city<br />
The filters effectively camouflaging my solitude<br />
<br />
No lack of attention<br />
Compliments, flattery, harmless flirting and unwanted advances<br />
But what I want has turned to dust<br />
<br />
Sitting in a darkened room<br />
Twinkling city lights below and that fleeting sense of glamour<br />
An ordinary girl craving an extraordinary love<br />
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-15488561473754942162017-03-20T11:04:00.000-07:002017-03-20T11:04:46.145-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Hey you!<br />
<br />
Yes, I'm talking to you.<br />
<br />
I have a bone to pick with you.<br />
<br />
I don't like this. Not at all. Not one little bit.<br />
<br />
This feeling of restlessness, of some vague unbalance.<br />
Of something gone missing, or a tad out of place<br />
Of looking around for the familiar - and finding the unwanted<br />
Of waking up to forgetfulness, and the rising consciousness of reality<br />
Of the expectation of laughter and calm - replaced by a jaded perspective<br />
Of trying to figure out who I am - and coming across scattered pieces<br />
<br />
This is not me. Or who I want to be. At all.<br />
<br />
I need you to fix this. You are the only one can. The only one who can put these pieces of me back together.<br />
<br />
You are the only one who knows how they fit.<br />
<br />
After all, you are the one who shattered them with such careful consideration.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-60839854670770991822016-03-30T02:42:00.001-07:002016-03-30T02:42:49.591-07:00Borrowing words...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Heard this song today. And now I can't stop listening to it...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/fMiOi8KKkKw/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fMiOi8KKkKw?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You Are Mine</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Everyone has their obsession <br />
Consuming thoughts, consuming time<br />
They hold high their prized possession<br />
That defines the meaning of their lives<br />
<br />
You are mine<br />
<br />
There are objects of affection <br />
That can mesmerize the soul <br />
There is always one addiction <br />
That just can not be controlled <br />
<br />
You are mine<br />
<br />
Everyone has their obsession<br />
Consuming thoughts, consuming time<br />
They hold high their prized possession<br />
They hold high their prized possession<br />
<br />
You are mine
</div>
</div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-20779522018002834082016-02-04T02:17:00.000-08:002016-02-04T02:18:13.151-08:00The doors are now closing...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div>
<br />
I think I'll go mad. Thinking about things. Trying not to think about them. Trying to live...actually just trying to breathe...<br />
</div>
<div>
I
find myself short of breath so often. Screaming inside my head.
Smiling, laughing, socializing. And just utterly, completely alone. Not
isolated, just alone. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
So intensely scared. That
life will go by just the way it is. And I won't have the guts to change
it. Or the strength to bear the consequences if I do change it.<br />
</div>
<div>
So
desperately sad. That I'm perhaps irretrievably losing a few things,
the only things most precious to me. And I don't see a way out. Every
time I try I split into two. One side goes into denial of the downward
spiral. The other is in auto pilot, pretending life is just as she
planned it.<br />
</div>
<div>
Wait, that's just denial again right?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
So
much so for thinking I was an independent, strong woman. There I go,
falling to age-old tricks played by life. And being nothing but a coward
burying into my comfort zone. Which is not so comfortable anymore. It's
become my biggest compromise.<br />
<br />
My days are stifling. My days are
frozen in time. Yet I'm overwhelmed by it's pace. I'm still there...and
everything else is whizzing by. Or maybe I'm going too fast and
everything else is getting left behind. Leaving me behind. And I can't
get on the roller-coaster. And I can't get off.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
The
frantic need to take a decision. Because I'll bitterly regret it if I
don't. But I don't know what that decision should be. And will I regret
the decision itself? <br />
<br />
All I know is...this can't be it. Can it? I don't know if I can bear it then. </div>
See what I mean by going mad.<br />
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-50119937966121791432015-11-30T22:56:00.000-08:002015-11-30T22:57:04.598-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
I am suffering from a Benjamin Button like EQ syndrome. In the
past few years, I've been feeling and doing things that are fine when
you are 19, or even 25. But downright stupid at my age.<br />
<br />
And
I tried to stem the downward spin, I did. But it's difficult when
stupid makes you so happy. I guess I should have remembered that it's
even more difficult when you get the inevitable wake-up call. <br />
<br />
After
all, only the very lucky are able to stay on in Fools' Paradise forever
- the rest are just shown glimpses. And I've never really been lucky. In anything.<br />
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-46107356712337807682015-10-20T03:12:00.000-07:002015-10-20T03:12:41.050-07:00Full Circle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
You're humming some random tune<br />
Making yourself your morning cup of coffee<br />
And suddenly that tune messes with your memories - and your head<br />
And the coffee turns cold, sitting forgotten on your desk<br />
<br />
<div>
A weekend spent surfing channels. Endless, mindless sitcoms.</div>
<div>
Laughing at a silly joke you sink into the couch</div>
<div>
And then you remember a talk you had in that very place</div>
<div>
And the mindlessness becomes a welcome relief...</div>
<br />
A perfectly normal conversation at work<br />
<div>
On mundane, boring, every day things</div>
<div>
When out of the blue, that voice over the phone </div>
<div>
That intonation, certain pronunciations - reminds you of someone else</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And the yearning hits you - like a fist to your solar plexus</div>
And you can't respond to the questions coming over the line. You are short of breath.<br />
<br />
They say time heals all wounds...<br />
...Except those it doesn't<br />
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-37590274624677115762015-08-14T10:37:00.002-07:002015-08-14T10:37:45.258-07:00...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You think you are too old to have your heart broken.<br />
And then you discover pain never goes out of style. <br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-37865222901010274802015-03-09T06:07:00.000-07:002015-03-09T06:37:49.591-07:00Breathe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I love the smell of home.<br />
<br />
The smell that assails my senses when I step into the room I grew up in<br />
My memories traversing a different space and time, automatically<br />
When this was life...<br />
<br />
My fingers move, of their own accord.<br />
Opening this, adjusting that, trying to place things just as I liked them a decade back.<br />
And all the while, I breathe in a past.<br />
<br />
It’s a whiff of childhood, and of adolescent pangs<br />
Of the sense of liberation once exams were done and dusted<br />
And the warm, lazy, endless summer days began<br />
<br />
There is an aroma that could only mean mom<br />
Her clothes, her cooking, her hugs<br />
Mixed with the sharp, burnt, heady smoke from dad's late night cigarette<br />
<br />
It’s the scent of first love, of late night phone calls<br />
Of the feeling that anything, absolutely anything is possible<br />
The scent of dreams yet to be realized, and thus, yet to be broken<br />
<br />
It’s the sense of growing up, leaving the comfortable behind<br />
Forcing yourself to spread your wings, even if you are scared of heights<br />
The refusal to acknowledge the overwhelming homesickness<br />
<br />
It’s not a sensory overload, oh no.<br />
It’s more subtle, creeping in and catching me unaware during those flying visits home<br />
And that’s how it departs too. Slowly, almost unnoticed, almost too soon.<br />
Till suddenly, I feel the familiar ache of something missing<br />
And I know it’s time to move on.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-78177647399674325992015-03-06T09:03:00.002-08:002015-03-06T09:11:36.380-08:00A random love letter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Dearest,<br />
<br />
You have given me so many 'firsts' - I could put them all together and create a brand new life. A brand new me.<br />
<br />
A me that I wish I could embrace all the time. And not in bits and parts. A life that I wish was the one I lived endlessly, and not in stolen moments.<br />
<br />
You are the madness in my life. And the sanity. The storm and the anchor. The dream and the reality. You helped me find myself - by letting me get lost in you.<br />
<br />
Deliciously, maddeningly lost.<br />
<br />
You've woken a part of my soul. And changed my essence forever. And I'm back to where I started, longing for us to begin, all over again. So that we can discover, all over again. Resist, all over again. Surrender, sink and drown, over and over again.<br />
<br />
I'm waiting for the firsts', to transform into forevers'.<br />
<br />
Yours<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-67368009106360131102014-11-18T00:58:00.001-08:002014-11-18T00:58:37.472-08:00This is how you lose her<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"This is how you lose her.<br />
<br />
You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.<br />
<br />
You must remember when she forgets.<br />
<br />
You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.<br />
<br />
She remembers when you forget.<br />
<br />
You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.<br />
<br />
You must learn her.<br />
<br />
You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.<br />
You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.<br />
<br />
And, this is how you keep her ."<br />
<br />
- This Is How You Lose Her || Junot Diaz<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-80945561948819940062014-09-12T07:45:00.001-07:002014-09-12T07:45:37.112-07:00Sublime<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The conversations about everything, and nothing<br />
Full of words, full of silences<br />
Over coffee, wine or ice-cream<br />
Over arguments or childish jokes<br />
<br />
The dates, or are they non-dates?<br />
Anticipation, and the comfort of familiarity<br />
Time you spend waiting forever for<br />
Time that's over before you know it<br />
<br />
Fingers playing with fingers<br />
The lightest of touches that make you hold your breath<br />
The lightest of breaths that make you close your eyes <br />
The moment before the kiss, and all the moments after<br />
<br />
All sublime<br />
All yours<br />
Only yours...<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-48997042594328817772014-06-06T10:40:00.000-07:002014-06-06T10:40:03.411-07:00Conversations<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoC4bxNqTkGtnqcOEhFDcm5Vt1Hlg0UnTPAJRS2Id3M38P9IQJxupm_PWoTa8GXjueAgwyQ2vProCrXQ8Z0eKoIt4w7MSaLm0JfjKpPw2c54InSmWUyKe3JUP9Paqw99kKCFSuD8H53TA/s1600/Rumi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoC4bxNqTkGtnqcOEhFDcm5Vt1Hlg0UnTPAJRS2Id3M38P9IQJxupm_PWoTa8GXjueAgwyQ2vProCrXQ8Z0eKoIt4w7MSaLm0JfjKpPw2c54InSmWUyKe3JUP9Paqw99kKCFSuD8H53TA/s1600/Rumi.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-61134150331109461772014-02-13T23:35:00.000-08:002014-02-13T23:35:38.670-08:00And then, I got goosebumps...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/vnKZ4pdSU-s?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<strong>Neil Hilborn - OCD</strong></div>
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Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-34065841471760497052014-02-11T05:05:00.001-08:002014-02-11T05:05:54.559-08:00A Crate of Beer, A Bottle of Wine<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A couple of weeks back, I wrapped up work on a Friday evening and decided to head home. It had been, like every other week nowadays, an exhausting few days - and I was more than ready to curl up on the couch and watch mindless TV for a few hours. Along with a glass of chilled wine.<br />
<br />
So I hopped over to the store next to office and picked up my favourite bottle. And then got a rude shock when I realized the number of people queued up to pay for their Friday evening party supplies. <br />
<br />
Resigned, I got in line. And with nothing better to do, I did what I do best. Stare into space and start daydreaming.<br />
<br />
And then this guy got into the line behind me - bumping into me, making me look around.<br />
<br />
He was struggling with a huge crate of beer. Behind him, his gangly friend was struggling with another. "Wow", I thought, "Someone's having a party". And I turned back. And realized something.<br />
<br />
The three other people in front of me were all dragging their drinks basket on the floor - one was overflowing with beer, one with every alcohol bottle known to man, one with two massive bottles of JD. Nobody had only one small bottle with them. Nobody. <br />
<br />
Everybody, apparently, had plans that went beyond the TV and the couch. And suddenly, I felt...lonely.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, I wanted a little more than my glass of wine. To have someone on the couch next to me. Someone I could sit silently next to, have conversations - or just be comfortably silent. Someone who's company was not an effort - but as fluid as breathing. <br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. It wasn't really a pity party. Contrary to appearances, I've never been a massive party animal. Given the choice, I would rather spend an evening at home with some close friends or a good book over anything else. But that day I realized, given the choice, I would give up even that evening with close friends or a good book to be with that special someone. <br />
<br />
Given the choice, it would be nice - really, really nice - if at the end of the day I could keep aside that small bottle of wine. And pick up a six-pack of beer instead. <br />
<br />
</div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-40410241966970219032014-01-06T01:18:00.003-08:002014-01-06T01:19:58.688-08:00 You...and me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><em>Mone porle okaron, kauke bola baron<br /> Rim jhim jhim boroshaye, tui aaj bhejar karon...</em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><em></em></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><em>- Mone Porle, Arijit Singh</em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em></em><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5397151186525483876.post-19516404263452593702014-01-03T05:54:00.001-08:002014-01-03T05:54:31.150-08:002014<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yes, this is one of those mandatory new year's resolution posts. So if you're suffering from an overdose of those, I suggest you don't read further. <br />
<br />
Or do. It's a free country.<br />
<br />
These are things I'm gonna do, or not do this year - <br />
<br />
Try out one adventure sport<br />
Take up the responsibility for the education of a baby girl<br />
Go for pottery classes<br />
Continue to not give a fuck to dissenters<br />
Learn horse-riding<br />
Get washboard abs<br />
Get a tattoo<br />
Take my parents on a nice holiday<br />
Learn to put my personal life before my work<br />
Pierce my belly button<br />
Not give certain people the power to hurt me<br />
Learn to cook at least six new dishes<br />
Try and be vegetarian for an entire month<br />
Tell those I love...that I love them. More often - and in some cases for the first time<br />
Read a new book every two weeks - and watch a classic movie every month<br />
Throw the perfect party<br />
Change my job - maybe even my career<br />
Spend some more time with you - if you can make the time...<br />
<br />
And finally, the most important thing of all...<br />
Learn to use chopsticks<br />
<br />
</div>
Drama Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06023638676795633332noreply@blogger.com0