arzu-rui

[arzu-rui]

What if, I am not angry

But just jealous?

I envy you. Because you love so loudly. Wildly. Fearlessly. I envy you because I am scared to love.

I hate this fear, but I am still clutching it so tightly my fingers hurt just because it feels safe. Safe. Safe. Lonely.

My ribs shudder at the thought of loving that way. You're so brave. I hate it. I hate it. I want to be like that.

I am

Choking

Behind my walls.

Please break them.

I don't want to hurt,

be hurt

So

I will be alone,

but you know,

it gets lonely.

It eats me sometimes.

I envy you.

It tastes too bitter. Too sour. I have never tasted anything worse. I want to throw up. I envy you because you carry the courage to be you. As weird as you are, and the strength to achieve what you want. And I want to be too, but I am scared they'll leave and I'll be left behind.

I hate being jealous, but I am still covered in it. Drenched in it. My heart is swallowed with it. It's freezing and it hurts.

I don't hate you. I. Just. Hate. The fact that you're better.

A sharp tongue. Harsh words. I want to scratch you, scar you, hurt you. So. Much. Just because you look too good and I don't. like. It.

The reason is sickening, but not enough to stop me.

I am not angry with you. I am angry with me and taking it out on you. It's no excuse and I am not apologizing. I am just jealous because I have not grown enough, matured enough to be able to simply replace jealousy with admiration.

Is everyone still a child deep down in their hearts?

Oh, Wouldn't it just be funny if deep down you too get jealous of me?

But if I never love, never hurt, never get hurt, never be me, never make mistakes, keep being buried in fear, unscared, unharmed, untouched—what will about me at the other side tell that I went through life?

[arzu-rui]

We are a passing thought of each other's head

Like people cross one another on a crowded street.

Unbothered and almost too quickly.

Yet My eyes keep searching for you

In a crowd almost unexpectedly

Desperately

Is this what unfinished businesses do?

I know,

I've lied too many lies.

Said too many things

Done too many mistakes

To ask for forgiveness.

This screaming silence in between

Flows too naturally

Like fishes swim in a sea

Like this is how things were meant to be

We're each other's endless wonders around what ifs.

[arzu-rui]

TODAY I AM TIRED

I am tired; of waiting for that strong storm of change to come and after it's gone, my name is the only thing that is same.

I am tired; of standing at the same old spot while the world around me changes as I shudder with fear of it.

I am tired; of trying too hard and still be told, you could have done better. I am tired of not being good enough. I am tired of sacrificing my smiles to make others smile. I am tired of clutching on people, when all they do is leave. I am tired of seeing my heart smolder as it compares others' lives with mine. Number of likes, number of friends, prettyness of smiles; their lives.

I am tired of waiting for someone to choose me. This is it.

I am too tired. I am too done. I choose myself.

[arzu-rui]

What a safe place

a good book

is.

[arzu-rui]

You never said I love you.

Those three words never left your mouth. Never have. Mistakenly or consciously.

You cover me in a blanket in the night. Tuck me in like the veggies in a sandwich because you know how cold I feel. Whether it's cold or not. I feel it.

You blow up my phone if I am a second late. Constantly and tirelessly calling and calling until you hear my breath.

A word of my voice.

The heart inside you relaxes. It goes back to living the rhythm it has since these years.

You don't sleep till you see my face like it is a lullaby. The picture of a book which will quickly make you be asleep.

You make my favourite food at the mornings of a holiday. It's my holiday, but so is yours. You worked all week. Your boss, he troubled you. Yet you try to make me smile. You make me smile while I should be the one doing it.

I love you. Three words stuck in my vocal chords since years. Six years is a long time. I felt relieved when I said it. Too relieved as if, my task was done. I told you I loved you. I told you I love you.

Now, you know you're loved by me. I felt asleep more soundly that night, but it's a wonder. How you've been saying I love you since I was in your womb. When you held me in your arms. When you kissed my forehead. When you tell me to not go too near to that guy. When you wait for me as I talk to my friends. Only you care about me. They don't. They can't. they are not you. You have said countless I love yous till now. And funnily, you have never said it verbally.

It's okay.

I love you. I said it. And, i do know you love me too because you still call me again and again till you hear a word of my breath so, you don't have to say it. I'll say your I love you to me.

What matters is the other person know that they are loved by you. I do. And, so do you. But somehow, your love weighs more than mine.

Tons times.

[arzu-rui]

"Are you okay if I see other people?" He asks.

Such a simple question.

I laugh. "You see a lot of people!"

His lips don't crack one smile, and my smile erases itself at that. He always smiles at my bad jokes.

"What did you mean?" I ask, averting his eyes. I put a strand of my hair behind ear.

"Are you okay if someone calls me hers and I call that someone mine and that someone isn't you."

I smile. It's plastic. Sometimes, I think that's what we do when we don't know what to do. We smile.

"I don't understand."

"If...if..." His gaze drops down. His eyebrows come together as he looks up. "If I become someone else's, are you okay with that?"

My mouth closes itself. I gulp. "Why are talking about this now."

"Because you may be good at hiding and bearing things!" His voice rises with each other. "At torturing yourself." and then, it falls down suddenly. "I am not," he says with almost water at the corners of eyes. "I don't want to. I can't pretend." A small pause. "I don't want to."

I turn to leave. "I don't want to talk about this."

His hand grips my wrist. "But I do, and which is why you'll have to. Are you okay if I put my arm around someone else's shoulders? If I talk to you, I laugh with you, but I go home to with somsone else?"

No. My head almost shakes itself, not wanting to imagine. I force stop it. I turn to put my hand on his grip.

Are you okay if I see someone else?

Such a simple question.

I smile, and force a nod. "Offcourse," I say.

Questions are simple. Do you like me or not? Do you want this or not? Do you feel fine or not?

Or not?

But we form complicated answers.

I push his shoulder. “Ofcourse!" My smile, almost bleeding. "Why wouldn't I be?"

[arzu-rui]

It's cold

And I am burning.

[arzu-rui]

She breathes and I miss you.

She is like you, you know. Correction; Your shadow, because as you said, noone is like you. I laughed and agreed. No one can be, I had said. But she is so much like you. she is like your shadow in a dim light. Few features of her face. The tip of the nose, curl of corners of lips as she wears up a smile like a crown. Her teeth are not crooked like yours.

The way she talks; sometimes I almost feel it's you that's talking. I wonder, if I go near her will I feel near you?

My feet almost walk me to her, but I stop at a distance. Specific distance. Something blocking me from going too near. Maybe it's the distance of you and me, and a fear. I overcome it, because love is supposed to make you brave. The more I know her, the more of you I loose. What an agony to fight this urge to know her and save this want to not loose you.

She looks like herself. Your smile will change into hers. She will look like you in less ways, like how she covers her mouth as she laughs. I'll see the things that aren't you more. You didn't do that. You laughed out loud. I loved that laugh.

I don't go near her because I might feel near you, or not. I don't know what if it's a mirage? What if I go near her and realise the obvious fact too strongly that she isn't you. She is her own person. She has different habits. Her name is what was yours, but she is not you. That realisation will hit like a punch. It will leave a bruise, and I'll loose you again.

This faint little ghost of you that lingers in her laugh.

I don't think I can do that you know.

So, right now, she's you. A little less. When I am around her I feel near you. Somewhere I can't be anymore.

She puts her hair behind her ear. Catching me looking, She smiles at me because I haven't given her a reason to not smile at me.

Yet.

My fingers curl to bring her hair from back of ear because that's how you kept it. She is not you.

"Do you want something?"

Her voice is a music of not my genre.

That's not your voice. I drop my eyes. "No."

Her eyes twitch a little. I turn around and walk away. I lost a little of you. Again.

She is not you. She looks like you. There's your glow in her. In her smile. She is not you.

She is not you.

I wish she was.

I am glad she isn't you.

I want to know her, but I don't want to lose you.

The more I know her. The more of you I lose you.

[arzu-rui]

It's like god made Hozier as an apology for making all the other terrible people.

While putting Hozier on earth he probably was like, “Sorry, kiddos. My bad. Here, have an angel as an apology.”

[arzu-rui]

Regrets have to be heavier than guilt

because if you feel guilty you can

apologize,

but with regrets

what can you possibly do

if no just live on with them?

[arzu-rui]

[arzu-rui]

Don't you miss the time when we talked without defaulted answers?

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"How is everything?"

"Fine."

"What is going on?"

"Nothing."

When the notifications that we liked each other's photo weren't the only things that told that the other person is still alive? When we didn't talked in empty hearts as replies to chats and stories exchanged in months and left messages with a like of a heart as a courtesy to not leave at seen. A heart that was still red, but not with love maybe with obligation or courtesy.

And the fact that we follow each other on these stupid sites where we update events of our lives wasn't the only thing told that we were still friends.

And when our conversations were longer, lengthy and meaningful with countless laughs stifled and aloud, and less awkward pauses of silence. When we didn't—couldn't run out of things to say. When this quietness that existed in between was breakable? I still think of the things we used to talk about. What were they really? Because I can't remember them. Perhaps they have stayed back in the time with everything else.

When we didn't give the excuse of not having time? When our happiness had a much brighter colour? And our smiles were different? More real and less formal?

Oh, tell me, don't you miss being a friend?

[arzu-rui]

An ode to someone I could have known

I am destined to be strangers with you. No arguments with that. We are people meant to have no ties and have lives that go on by opposite and parallel. However a question stays; had it been better to have as a stranger after knowing you?

I look at you, and I wonder what is it like to be left at seen by you? To call you and have no answer. And then, i think a too overated thought; how lucky are those people who know you, and have you in their lives. Perhaps, one of the most dangerous thoughts one can have on landing eyes on a person is, what is it like to get truly destroyed by them?

I never had a chance. To get destroyed or to destroy because we chose to not know eachother more than faces and just first names used very rarely. You still stay in my half said words. Letters of Your name obliterates somewhere in the phrase, "Someone I knew, doesn't matter." in stories I use as conversation starters. I have always been bad with conversation. Perhaps, you were too. Is that why we never had one together?

I could have known you. Well and more, enough to have your name as an another addition to my long contact list, settled somewhere down, left untouched forever by the tip of my thumb maybe.

Perhaps, the worst kind of strangers are the people you knew once and don't anymore, and the ones you could have known better and more or at all.

[arzu-rui]

If regrets could kill

We all be dead.

What if, regrets do kill. What if, Everytime, something of you, little of you die in the 'hi's you don't say, and the 'bye's you do say which you don't really want to.

When you try to walk to the person that catches your eyes until you make a hesitant halt on the way, and try to sneak into an alternate universe for the rest of the night, trying to find out the consequences of not stopping on the path, and almost time travel only to realise you can't.

What about the feeling you felt of losing yourself when you pick the choices you don't want over those you do? I felt as half of me died.

We murder ourselves with regrets, but we still live. What if, regrets do kill and we all are bunch of walking corpses, but at the end of the day, we're not dead because what really separates a corpse from living is just a beating heart.

[arzu-rui]

To the one with dark apple cinnamon eyes with tint of butterscotch, a crimson scarf snaked to your neck. You look like adorable autumn in live skin; death and birth;A signature of hope. But they should call you self destruction because that’s your default.

Yes, you. I see you, you know.

I see you painting yourself with stokes of colours you think no one can see. I see you smiling smiles you don’t mean, and smearing your lips with words that aren’t true. I see speaking what your eyes don’t mean.

Maybe.

Later.

Not now.

Some other day.

Tomorrow.

You procastinate on life while living it. No, you deliberately avoid it while living it. You speak every version of the word, ‘no’ for everything when your eyes keep screaming yes everytime. W h y ?

Your eyes drop in a group and you rub one tip of your shoes on the ground. Hands clasped behind you. Your friend made you come. Didn’t she? I notice the pause of your posture. Your lips almost part with words you want to say. You close your mouth and drop you eyes down again. I want to ask, why do you keep eating your words?

Your foot tottering with it’s shoe tip digged to ground. You always wear those shoes. You love them so much. Don’t you? You’ll keep wearing them till last shread of them is worn off. That’s how you love. You love till there’s nothing more to love. You destroy yourself in love.

You keep scratching the same old circle around you. Drawing it over and over again. Now, it’s not a line that could be earsed with rub of feet. It has become a small home of your residence. You keep tracing and scratching the outline, craving it deeper and deeper into the road and your heart. so, you see them. So, you don’t forget. You remember; these distant boundaries you keep with others. Are you that afraid to be not alone?

I see you, you know. Trying your very best to be worst to not fuel silly expectations of others. Constant disappointment means ‘no one gets hurt’. Right? You care. You just don’t show.

You speak so little. I almost keep forgetting the sound of your voice. I see you, you know. I see you, stepping back, and being what you think you are. Invisible. I see you folding flowers in your jeans. You love yourself. You try to, but these flowers keep wilting. don’t they?

I see the frown of your lips. Your face a picture of self doubt. You blame yourself. It’s not you who is at fault for this. You need to keep someone near to remind you to water these flowers.

I see you, crushing every dry leaf on the road, and everytime you do that. I see you, telling yourself that there’s nothing you can do to change yourself. Your shoulders are drenched more with guilt and overloaded with regrets you can’t trace back. You carry them. W h y ?

Defaults can be changed, you know.

I hope you know.

I see you, cutting yourself from pictures to give more space for others. There’s room for you, I almost say. I almost say too many things every day. Like, I see you. But why do I keep saying them to myself when it’s you that I want to these words to be heard by. I…guess, we all eat our words, and judge too harshly.

Just disown this little house, your circle; it’s not your home. Time will fade the lines. I almost advice, but my default is; to notice everything and still speak silence.

Well, I guess, you’re not human if you aren’t a hypocrite.

[arzu-rui]

I am me, you're you, and there is nothing wrong about it.

[arzu-rui]

I don't like purple. I like blue. The colour of the clear and bright sky. The colour oceans, lakes have. I love blue. Every shade of it. Royal blue or lightest blue. I hate dancing. I love painting a paper with words. I am my own person with different likes and dislikes.