THE FORGOTTEN STORIES

  You say you can only offer friendship for my love,  I say l don't want it.  I want love,  love in big forms,  love that fills every atom around me,  Love that challenges every equation.  I thought you are the one,  the one with whom they would define people.  I'm just fine to ask you to return everything,  Everything that I gave as souvenirs of my love,  Which you received as a friend.  Starting from my starings and nights waiting for your responses.  I turned to be someone I was not, for you,  I spent my time, analysing and making hypotheses on you.  So return my brain cells used for that,  the blood that rushed to my veins,  Every time I saw you.  I want my health and thoughts that I wasted for you,  The souvenirs of my love.  I have murdered my love for you,  One fine night,  I have buried the carcass of my love  In the gardens of hopelessly wandering ghosts.  The songs that I sang are waiting to be played on my recorder,  And I want you to return the efforts taken to expa

  I wish to go home to cry,  My eyes have started to blur out,  I can't carry the weight of unshed tears,  But I'm far from home.  My feelings overflow like a spring gushing forth from the earth,  It seeks refuge in moonless nights and  dark corners.  The heart has outgrown, it's no longer of fists size,  It has become indifferent to the aches and scratches.  I wish to go home to cry,  But I can't remember where my home is,  It has become a delusion,  I get the blurred images of the blue windows with yellow curtains,  That swayed in gentle winds,  To kiss the books on the table.  Or was it a yellow window with blue curtains?  I'm unable to figure out the exact picture,  I haven't been home since three seasonal cycles, or four or five.  But I wish to go home to cry,  To cut open myself and heal my heart with yellow flowers,  And to sleep with lavenders under the pillow.  But which is the right road?  Which is the right bus?  Where do I get down?  I have miles to

  It's funny to think of people who disappear,  They disappear into nothingness Without a warning Without leaving a sign.  I wonder what ponders in their mind During the moments before the disappearance.  They would think of coming back,  Maybe not.  Would they go with a proper plan Or place or a specific medium to travel?  They would probably go for minimalism,  For it would lessen the burden,  the burden of all worldly pleasures The burden of all relationships.  Maybe they would survive,  The disappearance period.  Or they will disintegrate and  Dissolve into seasons.  Or they will be transported to another universe,  Where all seasons come together And day and night  Come simultaneously.  They would experience a new sense of freedom,  Freedom from the monotonous life,  From the caricatures of commoners,  And the ties of restrictions,  From the questionable ways,  Inspiring thousands to disappear.  I desire to examine their wonderful minds,  Its design and architecture,  the proc

Every time my heart breaks,  I see a thousand happy faces,  Wandering leisurely,  With peace of mind.  I wonder if they are really happy,  I feel like stabbing them at heart And see it myself.  The happily beating heart.  Every time it happens,  I promise my heart to protect it from happening again.  But my heart doesn't follow reason,  I fall again for cute smiles,  Big cares, warm touches,  And big funny stories.  I make myself ready for the next venture,  As if it is new as if it is the 'one'.  But happy faces pop up after a while,  Reminding me I'm wrong again,  That my home carries no happiness,  It only takes away the existing one.  My mind tries to reason with my heart,  But sometimes my mind falls asleep,  And heart steps out stealthily,  Searching to pour out and cling,  Regardless of seasons and time.  And every time the mind wakes up late,  When it's time to start the mending works.  I feel my heart whizzing,  Of all the pain and tearing up,  Unable to de

  Dear Oliver,    Last summer was not only about freshly smelling grass and ripened peaches to me, it became something more than that because of you. Your arrival to help my father taught me lessons for a lifetime. It was you who gave meaning to my summer, to my days and its absurdities. When I first saw you, little did I realise that you are going to unravel the real Elio, an Elio who was so much in love. An Elio who was so confused at the choices of his love and who showed the courage to confront it no matter what. I remember when you whispered to me "Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine", the time when I felt as if the four lettered word Elio pouring out from your mouth is all I wanted to listen to in this entire universe. But sometimes life offers us a different path, away from what we actually want.  I still remember the fun we had at Bergamo, the way you kissed me secretly pressing against the walls, never did I experience that feeling ever again. Because

Just when I thought you can no longer affect me,  Your red sweater hanging in the wardrobe talked loudly,  Of fondness and passion that once kept my soul alive Of rainy days and summer sadness and of plaintive songs of our love.  You robbed me of everything that relinquished my soul of constant sorrow.  I  wonder how you remember me  because we can no longer be friends or foes.  It's strange to pretend to be strangers for the rest of our days.  But your sweater still smells of the coffee I spilled that day,  Mixed with that cologne of yours that used to drive me crazy,  I bet I can extract them without hurting a thread.  I wish we were different people who would cuddle into the sweater,  without saving up a look to hurt each other I envy people who still find love,  who still get to keep sweaters,  without feeling the need to return them.  I guess this is what they call an 'ex',  And I have passed the test to become one,  To think over you often on sober nights,  on lonely

They say twenty-five matters,  25 is the age where you are asked to be responsible,  You are supposed to bring home food,  It's an age where your uterus has to be fukcing good,  It is an age where you have to be fair And good as a nymph,  It is when your wallet should have a five-figure sum.  They say at twenty-five,  You will be twenty-five times purer than ever,  To breed and nurture,  No dear not your dreams, but your children's.  But that's not it.  I SAY THAT IS NOT IT.  It is an age where you realize,  You no longer have the desire to live the monotonous life,  You no longer feel alive at a celebration,  You find yourself as the perfect company,  You don't care if you die today or tomorrow,  You want to puke at people who restrict you from doing things.  You no longer want to be surrounded by people,  And your skills are your only saviours.  At 25, you no longer care if people love you or hate you, you realize your mental health matters than physical,  Your dreams