Invaluable

You really cannot attach a value to some things in life. This heroine always knew that but never understood what it meant. Maybe she hadn't had anything like that in her life perhaps. This heroine understands that now. It's her friend. Yes, this heroine also writes about the other heroes in her life. He's just such a good friend. He really is invaluable and probably someone she had underestimated the most. That Audrey Hepburn key-chain she finds when rummaging through her drawers. That D.F.T.B.A note in her cellphone. That birthday present, that bloody brilliantly creative birthday present he put so much thought and effort into. The call that lasted till 7 am in the morning when she needed someone to talk to the most; someone who would simply listen, be there without questioning what, why and when and hear out her anger, disappointment and embarrassment, in short, all the drama. 
 This might sound deathly cliched but really that is all there is to a real friend for me. He/she needs to be here. And that's still not it when I really sit down to think about it all. That's the thing about him, I guess: the amount of thought he puts into everything. How he always goes an extra mile to make his friends feel special. You know what? I don't even think he tries. It's just naturally him. The fact that I came to his mind when he randomly came across that Audrey Hepburn key-chain, the time when I couldn't stop stressing over my stupid weight issues but he actually bothered to guide me through a workout routine; the fact that he stayed up till 7 am to simply listen to me when he probably had a final exam to study for; the fact that he's ALWAYS ready to listen to my sad-ass sob-stories without fucking judging me one single time. Honestly, I can keep on quoting instances but I'll spare you the boredom.
Eventually, if that sort of thing isn't invaluable, I don't know what is.
What leaves me speechless every time is that without me leaving any signs, he knows. I think he does. He sensed the trouble last summer and wouldn't stop asking until I finally ranted one night. Of course he is full of flaws. Those moments when he tries really hard to act all smart and sophisticated, are priceless! He ends up coming across as adorable, actually. There are times when he says the shittiest things but I even that out by being the phenomenal bitch that I can be.
I have seen in him what I have not seen in any other; Something I have always found missing in myself: That endless, unconditional capacity to give, give purely without expecting anything in return. That is probably the gist of what you can grasp if you read everything I have written about him. If I think I know him, he really is unlike any other boy I have ever come across in my life. So now, every time I open to check the reminders in my phone, that D.F.T.B.A note is always there to make my day complete.
He's a friend. It's his birthday today. It's quite sad because if you read all of this you will realize most of this is about her as much as it is about him. It's true. She probably hasn't been even a quarter to him of what he's been to her. She realizes this and goes through the most terrible, inexplicable embarrassment. I hope she can be his friend too one day and make it all up to him. She knows he's changing. She hopes he changes for only and only the better like he has so far. Despite knowing she hasn't been that friend to him, she hopes, hopelessly, like the only thing she can ever do,  that he doesn't change to forget and make this drama queen a part of his fond memories.

Deaf.

What is it about the sound of twisting knuckles and ticking clocks, and footsteps that makes us so anxious? Can a sound, as simple and momentary, reach so deep into the senses and wring them into reaction? If it is so, then how come the sound of a lot of words goes unheard?

The Minor Costs of Living

There are times when I want and only want. The rest of the time I try to work a way around it. Sometimes, the 'Should' of 'The Way It's Done' happens. Most of the time there are just diversions. I scare myself in the most unpleasant way, by wanting to own. Obviously, I say nobody owns nobody. Empty spaces are only good to lose yourself into but they are anything but good to look at. At times I want to fill the spaces around me with people. Of my own. And then I say, people cannot be owned. Nobody owns nobody. Nobody thinks of it that way... like you yourself have been thought of all your life. That's not how it works. That's not how life works, I say. Fancy bed stands, jewels, vacant chairs and empty rooms are one of the few things that you can completely own. And your own self. I say, it's right. I daresay, love comes with costs but not for a price.

Your silken tie, around my finger
A half-opened envelope, longing, stirred,
I dance in circles around the fire in this absurd skirt,
 stirred by the breeze that comes through
the shattered, misty windows
our yellowing, bare, chipped walls.
Now the room stinks of your dog's urine
outside
The train's whistle carried on the wind
like you
Would carry her first child on your back.
Your idea of
me
on that table
lies, rests broken beside the equally broken fountain pen.
The burnt wick, the blues radio, the black, shrivelled rose
My hair strewn across
your shoulder
I stand
you are
between you and I
In silence
in smoke
Scratching away the expiration date
Wanting, kneeling, praying
to forget
just this once
(I think of you)
more.