abhijñānaśākuntalam

Live for love

I’m not gonna run away.

I’m going to make you come back to me. 

“It’s okay to be addicted to the way someone makes you feel. It’s okay to have withdrawals when you miss the way the hairs on your forearms raise when they touch you. It’s okay to crave something solely for the purpose of being happy. It’s okay to want to be loved.”

– a.b. 18 June 2014 (via eiznyl)

“One day, she will tenderly gate-crash your solitude and ask for you to stop leaving safety nets wherever you go. She’ll say she knows the answer, and that she wants to fall with you. That she knows the quiet despair that nests in you, that your irreverent considerations are hers to take. Tell her nothing, but hug her for three minutes straight. Do not tell her that pain is practice, that devastation is lonely. That life will break you anyway. That all people pretend and they don’t know a goddamned thing about this world. That kindnesses are luxuries, and are often so scarce that they’re mythical.
Hug the girl who doesn’t want to be saved.
Before you go, do not give her anything but magic. In her moment of being alive, hold her hand against her own neck and teach her how to count her pulse like blessings against her carotid artery: show her the pink skin of your healing cuts and remind her this is your body trying to save you. She’ll hate you for it.
Take her softly into your bandaged arms and hold her when she cries because life isn’t easy. Don’t tell her it is because that would mean you are just like everyone else.
Hold her tight and take her blows for her. You’ve seen it all before. Don’t tell her you’re saving her, that you savor this. Don’t tell her how to be graceful with terror, how to be surgical with horror. But hold your battered, fragmenting skeleton out for one more whiplash. Swallow it for her, take her pain away. Nurse her in your arms.
Don’t show her where hot iron burnt red tattoos in your skin, where razors hacked much more than promises. Hold her in your arms like love is the only thing you know.
If she tells you she needs no saving, hold her anyway. She needs it the most.”

I’m feeling dead again, I’m feeling utterly miserable. 

He is in the hospital, and I don’t know why. He tells me I don’t love him. He has been out drinking last night. I don’t know what happened, or why he is in the hospital. I’m worried sick. I talked to him over google hangout after a month and he didn’t show me his face. I wish i could see him, I genuinely do, but he’d think I’m only pretending, so I’ll just shut the hell up. He’s destroying himself, and it’s all because of me. He’s in the hospital and I can’t think.

I’ve been a terrible person recently. The romantic poetry exchanges with the poet had to stop. It had to because Bharath is the only one I love. I’ve stopped writing those poems. I really have. I haven’t written one single poem since. So he dedicated a song to me today. It’s not his fault, I led him on, I gave him every reason to fall in love with me. And I knew I’d tell him eventually, but it had to be today. So I told him, and I told him as he waited in a hospital for his sister. She might die, he said, I’m so scared. And I told a man, then, that I was going to run away from him because this is exactly what I wanted. Look at the kind of person I have become. Merciless.

Even Bharath thinks I’m merciless now. He told me I’ve changed so very much. As he was talking to me Aaro messaged to say goodbye, and I said bye, Bharath, I’m so busy and he said ‘No, you are going to go talk to him now, go ahead.’

I wasn’t going to. I was going to shut my computer down and cry because I’ve hurt so many damn people and because I don’t have the empathy to understand what love truly means. 

Sometimes I feel I don’t really love anybody, not even me. It gives me every reason to articulate my depression better. Maybe that’s the only reason. I’m out of love with life. I find it meaningless and heavy. It’s been 2 months since I heartily laughed. I’ve forgotten what laughter feels like. And what true emotion feels like. Someone might be holding my hand and telling me they are dying and I’ll be like ‘Oh, ok.’

This is where I am. And I feel wretched. 

I thought he would help me, but he’s crumbling with me. And I can’t take it sometimes, what I’m doing. I feel like i should vanish sometimes.

I am, anyway. My flight’s tomorrow.

If I die in the air or something or if something terrible happens, I want you to know the following things:

  • I love you. Even if you don’t believe me. You are the only thing I am certain I love. If you say I don’t, then you are the closest thing I have come to loving, and you mean so much to me.
  • I love you and all the memories we have made. They are pure and wonderful and amazing. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Don’t you dare try to ‘return’ them to me. They are not mine or yours. They are ours.
  • I want to talk to my sisters about you, and if I survive, I will.
  • My life is a piece of shit, but there’s nothing really I regret doing, except hurting people. But over the years, they will forget the hurt because that’s how life is. When you live 90 years, what lies a stupid depressed girl told you when you were 26 won’t affect you as much. So they’ll do other things in life.
  • I’m, in a sad way, proud of the little I’ve achieved in these years. It’s more than I expected of myself.
  • I love my family, no matter how much they don’t understand me.
  • I love my books, I want someone to preserve them for me. They’re so precious.

I don’t want to leave anything unsaid. I hope you survive the hospital. I hope I die in a way that doesn’t hurt too much in some accident so that I wouldn’t have to blame myself. 

I want you to be okay. We are only human. And I love you too much. 

I’ll be praying tonight.