It’s your decision to make…

It’s inevitable. Pain. 

You can’t expect to get through this life all smiles and sunshines. 

There’s going to be bruises, and hurt, and tears, and broken heart accompanied by an indescribable feeling that will tear through your chest in its own leisurely pace. 

But then, it’s upto you! To look at yourself in the mirror and cringe at the reflection looking back at you or to salute yourself for making it this far in a battlefield. It’s upto you to let the bruises haunt you or to proudly wear the scars like they’re pretty bows. It’s upto you to let the hurt define you or let the pain make you stronger. 

Each new day, remember why you breathe and give whole heartedly believe that it’s going to be alright. 

When the hurt fades just a little bit everyday, the sparkle in your eye will shine a little bit brighter. 

One day, one day you’ll breathe again without the air seeping through the pieces that seem calloused and cracked. 

Remember that it’s never too late. You can always pick yourself up, dust yourself up, shrug and call it a ‘life lesson’. 

It’s never a tragedy unless you decide to make yourself a victim.


Smirking In Irony 


And suddenly it was crystal clear. 
Why you chose her, and why you walked away, putting the entire blame on my shoulder. 
I wished you’d been man enough to have courage and speak the truth. 

We live in a world where we constantly talk about chivalry being dead and dead it is, for you never thought of taking the responsibility to share the blame of us falling apart. I bet the shopping bags you held for me are smirking at the irony. 

I don’t envy her, I never did. I always thought she was way below the type of girl you deserved. You deserved me. Now I’m smirking at the irony. 

I don’t blame her, I don’t blame you, I don’t even blame myself. You took the easy way out. How can I blame you for following a simple human nature? 

We all want what is easy, and convenient. 

She was there, raw, real, reachable. 

I was sitting at home, thousands of miles away, waiting for a text that never back. How would it? 

You were busy hugging human warmth that couldn’t have reached through my texts. 

I forgive you. Following your heart and following your nature is hardly a sin. 

It was too soon, it wasn’t soon enough. 

We were too perfect and you imperfect for each other. 

I forgive you. 

I’m free. 
And yet my tears are smirking in irony. 

Of hope and regret


I was doing fine 

But today 

Your name crossed my mind

So I went back and listened to the songs

Songs that reminded me of you

They sounded like a beautiful mixture 
Of hope and regret 

But as the melody went on, 

I realised 
That the beauty of the music still remained 
While your memories were slowly but surely fading. 

Faded, But Not Lost.  


It has happened again. 

Perhaps the person you like doesn’t like you or you got cheated on or your relationship didn’t work or your ex seems to be moving on with another lover while you’re still pining for them. 

And here you are, still waiting, wishing, praying even, for some miraculous event to turn around your life, so that it doesn’t hurt so much and they’re back in your life so that you can be happy again. 

The truth is, if it mattered to you, it’s going to hurt, it’s going to hurt like hell and your world is going to come crashing down on you and breathing normally is going to seem like a chore and that perpetually heaviness in your heart is going to make you miserable. 

But the truth also is, it’s going to pass. Your tears will dry up, the heaviness from your heart will disappear, the fog from your mind will be lifted and the ‘hope-they-come-back-into-your-life’ glasses will come down the day you realise that you can’t be waiting on them forever. 

You’re going to move on. To better things, better people. You’re going to distract yourself with friends and work and perhaps even get back to hobbies or pick up a new one along the way. You’re going to introspect, rearrange your life, make new priorities and goals. 

You will stop stalking them on social media. The holes in your existence from them leaving will be filled, breathing will come back naturally, you will feel like smiling again. You’ll even catch yourself singing in the shower. 

You’re going to survive this, come out of this shipwreck, not unscathed but alive. 

You will write about your scars or talk about them or let them just silently motivate you from the worn pages of your journal. Wear them proudly. 

You will start believing in this overused phrase – ‘It’s going to alright’. You know why? Because that heart, it’s battered, bruised, broken, shattered, so many times. 

But it’s still beating. 

And while you’re faded, you’re not lost. 

Watch Me Walk Away 


Fool me once, shame on me. 

Fool me twice, shame on you. 

Fool me for the 36th time, shame on, well, me. 
This shame game has been nothing short of a Russian Roulette, albeit; a Russian Roulette wouldn’t have lasted this long. 
So here I am, dropping the gun, dropping my pride, dropping my want, dropping my hope, dropping you, walking away. 
I refuse to be an option, your option. I’ve been there and done that far too many times. I’m narrowing down your confusion by removing myself from the equation. 
I’m not going to question anymore. I’ve been questioning myself more than I’ve been questioning your priorities. I won’t allow my soul to degrade any further.  
I’ve been pulling my hair and driving myself crazy with why-I’m-not-good-enough scenarios and plaguing my head with self doubt. 
No more. I won’t let you be the centre of my universe when you’ve been busy denying my existence, most times. 
I won’t wait for your once in a blue moon calls, or texts, the ones out of desperate boredom because you had nothing better occupying your attention. 
No more. Please, no more. 
I hope you’ll be happy with your choice of regarding me as a temporary, optional fix that had no feelings. I hope you’ll be happy knowing that you only did bare minimum to keep me hooked on to you, like a moth to a flame that’s barely burning. 
And as you see me ignoring you and distancing myself, I hope you’ll be happy to lie in the bed you made with your own lovely, strong hands.