I Overthink….therefore….i Overam….

🪄 ✨

LET'S STAY IN

A few more days let's stay in,

Read a book or play violin.

Though how long is uncertain,

This too shall pass, that's certain.

Binge your favourite TV show,

Or adopt a dog, so you can watch him grow.

Stay up all night then wake up late,

And enjoy your cup of hot chocolate.

Make biryani, bake a pie,

Or paint a picture and watch it dry.

Call that friend who cares for you,

And watch the sky in brilliant hues.

A few more days let's stay in,

Later you can go trek mountain.

Though how long is uncertain,

This too shall pass, that's certain.

(30.10.20)

My Body: A Crime Scene

I was told the body is a temple. I was taught to treat my body like a temple. Sacred, Holy, somewhere God resides, somewhere a person can be at peace. But with time, the sacrality has begun to fade. It has become a realm of my internal demons, something sinister.

My body is now more of a crime scene than a temple.

I've put up barricade tapes around me. Of bright "when life gives you lemon" yellow and black. A cautionary measure for the lighthearted.

Some understand and stay away.

Others push right through like the case now belongs to them.

They say they've seen this before.

They say no amount of gore can keep them away.

They say they'll take care of it.

Only to realize it's bloodier than they could've imagined.

Multiple fingerprints, Multiple footprints: An evidence marker placed for every person I let walk all over me, and for every person, I gave my heart only for them to poke my wounds.

Blood: Numerous splatters, but all mine.

Weapons: Some sticks and stones, knives that I willingly handed over hoping they'd protect me, now covered in my blood and, a pen.

Many witnesses: Either dumb or hostile.

Signs of arson: Ashes of everything I burnt down. Pictures, letters, broken promises, false hopes, unfulfilled dreams.

And now, all that's left of me is a chalk outline. Everything else faded, picked apart or withered away.

My body is not a temple anymore. It isn't sacred or pure.

It's not a place I can stand barefoot.

It's now a place where I need a hazmat suit and gloves.

desperation

A word we borrowed from Latin.

de (without) + sperare (to hope)

forming a word that I'm getting more familiar

with each passing day.

Desperation: to lose hope.

Losing you would be to lose hope,

Because that is what you brought into my life.

That is what you are.

A hope.

A hope that, in your eyes, I'm worthy of love.

A hope that loving someone could feel so easy.

A hope that loving you is a feeling of warm yellow light.

My days pass without being next to you

And each day, that warm yellow light dims a little.

The flowers that slowly bloom in my lungs

when your hands touch me

slowly start to wither without their light.

I feel my heart gradually freeze

into a block of ice

that doesn't melt without your warmth.

Desperation

starts to creep into me with every breath I take.

So my dearest,

I urge you to come,

to hold me until the winter in my heart thaws,

touch me and bring back the spring.

“I like the idea of a motto,“ she goes on. “I think an inspirational quote can get you through hard times.” “Like what?” asks Gat. Mirren pauses. Then she says: “Be a little kinder than you have to.” We are all silenced by that. It seems impossible to argue with. Then Johnny says, “Never eat anything bigger than your ass.” “You ate something bigger than your ass?” I ask. He nods, solemn.

Book: *physically hurts to read* Me: *highly recommends*

Harry Styles / Two Ghosts

- Stendhal, The Red and the Black

The Beatrice Letters by Lemony Snicket