Thursday, July 28

Stains On A Coffee Paper

My mind is dazed by a silhouette. She is just a blur created by some chemical in my head. Like a faded blot of jet black ink on an old yellow parchment. And that silhouette, has blurred my concept of importance of words. Because I can't take my eyes off off her. I forget all about the standard norms of falling in love. Stepping outside the boundaries set by society, I fell in love with the idea of a person.
A person I had never met.

At least not physically. But she has been through every cell of my being, leaving behind traces of someone unknown that puts me in a trance. And I am amazed at how an unknown shadow feels like a shot of dopamine. A kind of addictive joy runs through my bloodstream simply because of the thought of her. This is what love probably feels like. This is what home probably feels like.
Or not. 

Because no one would know what loving a blur would be like. We all build an image in our minds, of us with our lovers holding hands while walking on the beach or being in each others arms under the sheets or simply looking at our reflection in their eyes. While all I do, is smile faintly thinking about the person who will hold my heart in her warm hands and keep it close. No feeling has ever been so different. Love has never been more blind.
And I, have never felt happier.

-Kathan Shah

Saturday, July 23

Self Destruction Is Not Romantic

How convenient it is for us to try to find inspiration in things that destroy us! Listen to all the songs these days, about drugs, infidelity and running after people that don't contribute to our existence through theirs. The problem grows around how since time immemorial people have romanticized the idea of self destruction, making it look like art, like poetry. It is not.

Let me tell you about this man that I believed I was in love with for almost three goddamn long years. Oh, how he sung my favorite song at sunset and how my hips swayed to the tune of his guitar. Sounds straight out of a television box isn't it or more like a bestselling novel thrown in your bag; the one you got sold to when the leading media houses quoted '...tragic, captivating, sensuous tale of love and despair'. Well, here I was writing my ignorance in a journal full of love songs and un-posted letters for a man that would always call me after everyone else was gone. "Time for showdown, baby!"