Want to paint every colour red and every emotion blue

This is THE time of the year, they say, they don't cough when they say it, their mascara doesn't dissolve, their smile doesn't fade. However, there are some Scrooges in this season, by those of course, I mean the ones who don't see the light behind the cobweb or the dog sleeping on the coiled wire, at the end of which a pole is lit, and lit well.

A self

I need this space, I need it. I need it more so when the mind is becoming active. I need this space to slow down, be true to myself and others in equal measure. I need a dark side which is wholly welcoming, unquestioning and understanding. To pour your thoughts in pain, in happiness, is in a way destructive for the self. The reason for this is that the mind functions in solitude and the unconscious self works its way when the mind is marred by confusion. There I go, losing the plot. So therefore, one cannot pour one's thoughts without being subjected to the self-critic, flatterer etc. Indulging a dark side in crude words, just takes care of everything unnecessary.

I Take Thee in Dignity and Pride..

There is an old crumpled page under the bedsheet, something he left as a token after we spent the sunlit mornings holding each other close, cocooned in our truth. I never imagined the reality to be so blinding and unrelenting, like today. When I held the yellowed paper in my hand, I felt the slow recurring pain cripple my senses. I could not even hold the tears, for it was so jarring, this tumult of loss and the deadening sense of the present.

This afternoon brightened further, as I sat in silence, wielding the mind's energies towards a dark end. I thought of the possible sickness of his mind, of the loss I had, and of the blankness that uncovered the false sense of bliss. I still felt a bit raptured, and clasped in his arms, the stolid sense of defeat shrinking the desires further.

I realised that among all the truths he told me, and the lies he withheld, there was something unnerving about the romance that only lasted till a blink, or so I thought. I could not wish him away, this place, where the erect and proud poplar looked down at this small human tragedy.

I could only think of one thing. It was already evening, and the silence grew more solemn and grave. I walked past the little patch, where a child's scrawl with white chalk was half erased by footprints. I looked at my watch. I still had some time.

I came back home, and thought of sleep. It was a fearful refuge, for I knew I would wake up in another hour or so, perspiring and anxious. I fumed at this utter helplessness, this lack of comfort. Soon, the cold numbness took over.

To be continued..