Journal, Myself, Preeti

Breathing

Fire Breathing
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Lying to you was better than seeing you lie there.  Protecting you from the realities of your current world was more important than breathing. Watching your beautiful face still and breathing in pure oxygen made me wish for complete bliss for you. 

Not 5 feet away from you yet feeling a stranger, I look upon you wishing it was me lying there and you watching me.  Asking again and again why you to no one in particular gets old and while the shabads surround the room, the soothing melody allows me no time alone with my thoughts.  I sit here in darkness thinking of lies to tell you so the flicker of hope brightens in your green eyes,  I don’t have the words to tell you that everything will be fine because it’s not.  However, the reality is that although our past lives are obliterated, we have a new beginning. 

Breathe my babu.  Breathe away the anger, the past, the arguments, the many wasted moments regretting what was not to be.  Breathe in the love surrounding you, Breathe in thoughts that will remove the enemy in your body, the unwanted stranger.  Take control of your body.  Get angry.  Get calm.  Focus the laser of your thoughts ‘ on to that pervert, and give me back rightfully whats fine.  Breathe.

The darkness swirls around me, and the thoughts try to enter, but I wont allow it.  I am willing you to breathe away all the negative energy, and lets start our lives anew.  Breathing together positivity and love.  Neither of us know what the future holds except we are together.  Breathe out the intruder like a fireball, and come back to our new life.

I love you.  Breathe…

Brownness, Myself, Preeti

Pain Please

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In just 2 months,  the life I knew has been obliterated.  I search for the words to express that, but besides pain there is nothing.  Actually. I wish there was pain.  Just numbness.  I sit here in a daze, not writing particularly well just thoughts and emotions fighting with God asking why her?  What has she done to deserve?  Is being with me so bad that she had to be punished physically?

No one’s saying it to me, but they don’t need to.  I feel it.  I know I am being watched with the wonder, did the constant stress of being in this relationship cause this?  What other explanation is there for someone so young?

Praying to the God so frequently that now only word goes out to him: Please.  As in, please change this.  Please stop this.  Please fix this.  Please cure her.  Please give it to me.  Please stop.  Please forgive me.  Please let me take this on.  PLEASE.

Nothing else comes except the numbness, wishing her pain was mine, wanting her life to be mine.  She doesn’t deserve this. No one does.  Why her? Why not me? 

I look up and hear nothing.  Please.  Nothing. 

Life as I know it is over.  Nothing remains.  Just the pain. 

Please

Myself

My Tools

A hoodie with the University of California, Lo...
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The assignment seemed straight forward enough: describe my writing tools and place you will use to write. No problem. Look at Ipad adoringly, check. Sleek wireless keyboard, check. Brand new ipad stand, check. My 2008 Dell laptop (a bit too dated for my taste but fine as a back up), check. 5 subject UCLA notebook incase I get the inclination to handwrite to the right of me, check. Then realized that I HATE writing unless I have my Montblanc and I remembered, I lost it at the hospital, left blank. Being annoyed that I don’t have a printer (even thought the last time I printed something was over 6 weeks ago), double check. Phew, all needed tools ready. Time elapsed: 60 minutes.

Now where to write. Using the ipad as the writing tool at first seemed a mistake since it severly cut down the places I could place it so I could type my 35 words a minute error filled pace, but the gadget freak in me relished the idea of being 2010 rather than 1990 (the year I graduated high school). Ok so settled down in my parents kitchen and withing 15 minutes realized that wouldn’t work as my dads music room next door keep blasting old indian music while he work on a pet project of his, and made me slightly made me deaf, perhaps to imitate hiis 70 years of being hard of hearing.

So moved upstairs, and although words drifted in from mom’s tv show downstairs intermingled with old bollywood, I manage to create some of my own, one of the first times ever I have written here. Success! or is it?

Decided to go to my house (removed 6 houses away from my parents) and while the calmness of the place soothed me, it really create any need for me to regurtitate anything really creative, Pass on my house for now.

Parents house it is.

Total time elapsed 2 hours.