overlymelancholic

[overlymelancholic]

TODO: Stand in a valley full of flowers, with a suit on and hands in pocket.

[overlymelancholic]

i rehearsed escape by memorising the flight patterns of fish / they too suffer the tyranny of surface tension / they too know how it feels to be translucent and irrelevant / he keeps a ledger of my laughter / says it helps him measure sincerity / i only laugh when i am drowning / i drown often / i drown eloquently / the fish never came / but the surface broke

[overlymelancholic]

I'm glad they made movies about

- a snail racing among F1 cars

- a rat becoming a gourmet chef

- a monster becoming a comedian

- a panda becoming a fighter

goes to show and inspire us that we are more capable than what we give ourselves a credit for.

[overlymelancholic]

To ask a writer meaning behind their work is as absurd as asking a mother what's meaning of their child?

"There is no meaning. It just exists."

"Then why did you create it?"

"Because I wanted to. It was almost a necessity to outpour my love and give it a tangible form, which I can look back and feel the love back."

"Oh, so you don't know why it exists as well?"

"All I know is that this beautiful entity is an artwork by the cosmos and I provided the means to make it possible. I'm the paint brush, The reality a canvas."

[overlymelancholic]

You know that Ada Limón poem where she’s like “i can’t help it i love the way men love”? my dad recently confessed to me that he became a shoemaker because they buried my grandma shoeless

oh.......................................

[overlymelancholic]

How did the fire not hesitate? Running over the cheeks of innocence. Did those eyes ever see it coming? Maybe a gesture, maybe a sign. As subtle as a tainted window or fewer than usual number of clouds in the sky.

Leaving the land and never get to step on it alive. Being afraid of heights yet taken aback by distance that must've felt like memories away. Too soon doesn't even begin to describe.

Thinking of smiles and whims you're gonna carry throughout your life. How the fire will ever overpower the warmth of your family in your vicinity? You laugh so loud and full of life, you fail to notice the siren of death, AND RIGHTLY SO.

[overlymelancholic]

My nation is mourning. My heart goes to the families affected in the London-bound air India Crash.

[overlymelancholic]

What is love if not the first hill to die upon.

[overlymelancholic]

How come my body knows how to fix itself but not my mind?

[overlymelancholic]

They are bringing the birds back from dead

i don't love you more than i love breaking dishes / more than devouring all the spells before entering a steeple / more than dialing the radio to a classic songs station and back to static

i still find you fascinating despite all the red you have on your hands / and how you flinch on the word love / and the way you burst the nitrogen bubbles in the gaps of your finger bones

what i'm trying to say, you will be my limit of perception / i will never find another frame of reference in which kindness can be more cruel than wishing heart strokes for your enemies / there has to be a language in which you utter i love you and mean it / without biting your tongue / without crossing your fingers

something about the phrase, all hell breaks loose, casts a shadow on my dreams / but you are not hell / and i'm not let loose

[overlymelancholic]

Omg your works have such a visceral reaction in me— but then when i try to understand what really is going on it somehow makes absolutely no sense. Do you write with the intention of making it mean something or however your emotions lead you?

i think i just write the way i dream, or i dream the way that i cope. i have always had a painfully vivid imagination, & sometimes to survive i think my mind stitches unbearable things onto unrecognisable objects so it feels less like remembering and more like encryption. like if i write abt that mushroom i don’t have to say what he did. if i write abt the colour of dead wasps or how cordyceps eats ants from the inside, then maybe i can say pain without having to say pain. it is like building tiny ecosystems to keep the real thing caged. i write what i see when i close my eyes. i get obsessed with certain objects or strange biological phenomena and write about them for weeks before discarding them for the next fixation. i feel half in reality. i don’t mean to be cryptic or to write in symbols i am just writing how everything looks to me & how i experience existence

this did not answer ur question at all and i am half asleep but it is all i can think of to say. love u thank u for reading my things

[overlymelancholic]

[overlymelancholic]

I broke my sleep in the morning by falling of bed trying to turn over. Now this aches in my back is reminiscent of all the mistakes I made in life.

[overlymelancholic]

Make friends with kids / spoil them with all the happiness they want / teach them how to care / how to embrace / teach them the benefits of God and travesty of a religion / let them fly high and bruise themselves / then let them know kissing on the bruises will make them more human / teach them they are tiny gods / they know no limits of imagination / and the limits imposed are by people with feverish amnesia / let it be their way / pray for each moment to be filled with joy

[overlymelancholic]

How did the cavemen grieve?

did they wail and scream like baboons? / or did they carry their dead like whales? / did they find solace among the stars knowing they went there? / or did they burn their fingers trying to reach them?

did they cremate or torch the body? / or did they try to held it up towards the sky / until something up there exhaled a sigh / did they knew they will meet them soon / did they realise how beautiful the moments were / did they ever knew memory would hurt more than the scorching sun or an empty stomach?

[overlymelancholic]

In all my dreams

i have traced the edges of my epiphanies until it spelled your name backward / i gave everything i was supposed to / my vanity caused me my life / and gave life to apprehensions who died a while ago.

how am i supposed to take care of you when i have never seen a rainbow / never have i ever split the colors of your photograph and not found evidence of afterlife in them / hope for me is a drug and you are trying to wake me up

maybe beyond these boundaries of belief i will find peace in the fact that babies exist and hence love exists / maybe sunsets will be equally heartbreaking as your instagram stories / maybe world will learn to return to its grief not realizing it was a staircase / maybe i fall for you and you let me fall this time

[overlymelancholic]

What if I could carry grief like an umbrella? Fold it down when I don't need it, close it before bed and open it up on my way to work. What if it shield me from the scorching heat and manifest a shade just for my comfort. What if it listens to me and let some rain inside the umbrella? What if I can leave it and it has some tears on it, what if it never rains after that?