What is time?

I was not saved.
But like Taylor Swift’s cheesy ‘Out of the Woods’ video I realized I wasn’t rescued because I had found myself.

This really doesn’t mean that on the way I don’t stop for donuts and the like, distracting me and making me forget that even though I am a shitty map reader, I’m a darn good navigator. It’s just that sometimes, I, simple forget. Because honestly, life isn’t supposed to be good pictures all the time. You have to click 54 selfies before you find the 10 most socially acceptable ones that you can send to all your friends to proclaim yourself as their glorious goddess of typos. WORSHIP ME.

I don’t know what is time anymore and it felt like just yesterday when I was out with Rochana on the last day of 2014 seemingly prepared for everrrrything. Which in retrospect is absolutely wrong. Because for one, I don’t have to be prepared. I don’t have to have a plan of action. And I don’t have to have all the answers. All I know is that it IS hard trying to be a good person in a world where it is far easy to do your worst.

I want to tell you of all the brilliant things happened this year, but since that’s usually kept for my birthday gratitude post, I’m just going to tell you about the people in my life. Because I’ve realized far too often how true the statement ‘man is a social animal’ is for it to be a joke anymore. And even though I am kinda asocial (apparently antisocial is the wrong term, yay for learning something new) I would totally die a million times over without these people. One, is obviously Rochana. (I hope she won’t read this coz of how overly cheesy it is.) She is a brilliant being, I mean yea whatever she’s not that bad and she has her moments and she’s incredibly funny if you get her humor. Most people just take offense and leave, I guess her face is lidat, can’t help that now. But she worries too much and I just want her to know, that she shouldn’t. Life is going to be the same if you worry or not. And I know some estrus is great and Ā all, psychologically, but if it’s leaving you more sad than happy then you probably should see the doctor aka me. But mostly thank you, I mean who wouldn’t want to have me as their friend and all, you made a brilliant choice. You’re welcome.
#TeamMatty

Karl, wouldn’t actually expect to see himself second, but here you are and boy, am I grateful. Thank you for making me feel 1% okay about the male species even though I really don’t like them thaaat much. You set an exception and I guess I can believe in the odds because of you. You are so understanding and knowing and caring, and I don’t say this often, but bro to bro, you are awesome. But don’t let that go to your head, I will say it only once a year, so yeah. You deserve to be happy. And as somebody told me last night, Happiness is a choice and you don’t have to shut yourself out even if the day isn’t good because there are at least two people that care.

Hi, Christina.
It’s been an odd year for us. Mostly because we do live separate lives now and almost hardly fangirl over Castle, which I had to so sadly admit. But you know, you see those pictures on facebook that they share about how friends who can go months without speaking and still have lots to say and the same kind of zeal and energy, that’s kinda us. Hash Tag So True. (Apparently relatable isn’t a word, neither is relateable. So is it relate – able? IF it’s not a word why do people use it. This is why I fail in novel writing, the world is conspiring against me!!!!!!!) We will always need each other even if it’s just for background noise and pizza.

Talking about conspiracy theories, I have a few wild ones, but that’s not our case of interest here. The most weird thing is finding a person who believes in utterly unrealistic existential theories of life with the same amount of passion as you do. One idiot is understandable. Two is just the universe’s tiny joke. Yes, I’m looking at you Tiara. For all your mysterious black beauty and your unfailing optimism about life, socks and the ever green forests in India, you are a pretty pretty pretty okay person šŸ˜› Thank you for sharing chicken curry and chappati with me, making me eat something substantial in the foyer and introducing to the liquid sub-category called fruit juices.

NINI. I hate you because even though it’s just the second day of the year I’m already trying to read furiously so for once I can beat you in the book race. Nia, which pig’s belly did you rub to get all those free books or did you sell your soul to Crowley AGAIN? I would probably read 64 books anyway last year, but without you breathing on my neck, it would be quite a boring competition. I love fighting with you, hearing you complain (No, actually I’m just saying nice things for wordpress’ sake) and stealing your headphones time and again. The next I time I take them, you’re not getting it back:))))

Aaaaand before wrapping it up, I must take a bow to Nithya, who even though comes across as the most sane practical creature in this pack is actually the worst of us all. Behind that mask is a fury for violent video games, killing, fangirling and a lot of gossiping. Oh yeah. Can you not be OCD for once Niths? Also can you please stay for a party beyond 10 PM YOU ARE KINDA THE OLDEST AMONG US ALL. In spite of all I find our conversations to be highly enlightening, our efforts to discuss several FICTIONAL theories highly productive, okay I can’t go on with this flowery language thing. Let’s just buy those GoT merchandise and get out of here.

This is the most that I’ve typed in the longest while and I just remembered I have an English CIA to do. WOW. So yeah. I guess I never realized time was passing because for all those seemingly finite moments I had these ever expanding people who made everything seem so timeless. I don’t know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. I just know that I really don’t care what year it is, whether it is the beginning or the end. Because as long as you guys are here, all that matter’s is the moment at hand.

*mic drop*

 

-Vee

 

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The One Walking Dead

When I pulled me pants up, and ironed my shirt
Little did I think you were only the hint of the sun on the horizon.
You were simply one road across, in one building too dense, in one circumstance that led to a dead end.

So I put me slippers on, pink and glitter green.
Chucked a couple of notes in my pockets, hoping we’d meet.

Earphones plugged into my ears, music off, so I could listen to all that people didn’t want me to hear.
Because they’d finally say it without fear,
When they smile as I passed them on the street, turn around to look at my back and sport a spot to knife me sweet.

I had to get away quickly
Not because I was afraid of them. No, their stabs were wounds I could bend.
I was getting away from my home– Because home was closest to you.
I was walking in the opposite direction because that meant I was getting away from you.
In the dark dark night, where cars where shiny and accidents were many,
You were a hope I couldn’t dare manage.
So I ran.

I was wondering what it would be like to sit on the side of the footpath
with the beggar in dreadlocks and alcohol in his intestines.
There were worse things to do with you-re insides.
Like intoxicating them with love.

The thought was nauseous and I was too scared to sit– sitting meant I’d have time
to actually ponder and think
about what I doing here
So instead I quickened my pace and walked past that street
the one I used to travel upon for about 10 years of my life, if not more
the street on which I didn’t even know you existed
how did I go all these years not knowing you lived– you lived.

I saw girls who took my place and stood at the side of the wall, smoking.
Girls who were trying really hard to matter. They were giggling and going about
“He said this to me and then that!” Like school really mattered.
And then raised their long fake eyelashes at me, as if I was old and wriggled.
They raised their eyelashes inspecting
just like I used to.
The night was dark and I walked past, I let the girls be. They’d know soon enough.

Or maybe I was the one who didn’t know
what
mattered.

Maybe they did know
what
mattered.

I don’t remember what I thought mattered when I was like them.

So with no appetite in my belly, I went even further down the lane.
People used to scare me, now they just come in the way.

I held my back straight, tucked my stomach in and braved the sudden bright lights.

It was Diwali. or Maybe I had just forgotten what hope looked like.

Then I saw him coming– a guy in a blue t-shirt with too much facial hair for No Shave November.
He looked too old for me. That’s when I realized I was too old for me.
I did what I always did – looked up once, looked down and then sneak– THERE he was still looking at me.
But I walked on
because I HAD forgotten what hope looked like.

Hope wasn’t getting out of the house when you never wanted to
or walking down that unlighted street where no good girl should go
or listening to your best friend and trying to be courageous.

Hope was when you knew everything was dead but you still kept walking on.
One
being
at
a
time.

If we were a movieā€”

Dear Nia my stereotypical nasty nerd gave me a prompt of framing my life as a movie, sketching out a plot aaand casting members of ze audience aka you as its supporting characters.

Little did Nia know that my life was already quite a huge Broadway production.

*crickets’ sound*

*cue shot of Vee lying in bed watching TV the whole day*

AND THEME SONG! I don’t give a damn about my bad reputationā€” zooms past in a convertible.

My movie is a typical 90’s click flick and I may or may not be Lindsay Lohan. Everyday is a bright sunny day because nothing goes wrong in my life, unless it’s that time of the month (you know when they run out of cupcakes.) I live in an amalgamation of America and India and Xavier’s is the only damn place that comes close to this.

Let me introduce you to my side kicks, my fellow prompter Nia with the super power of saying ‘RUDE’ like a 12-year-old kid. But I kinda love her because she keeps my nerd in check and let’s me believe I’m normal. And the second is Rochana who will probably kill me if I call her my sidekick becauseĀ being deadly is in her genes, so let’s make sure she never sees this post.

Christina sits at one corner smirking as I type this. She’s the person in the movie who’s employed to clean up all my mess. But Chris yells, ‘the less I have to deal with, the better.’ So we keep her off the screen and more on Twitter updates. And sometimes messaging.

The plot begins. After scrambled shots of what seems like happening moments during the theme song, Vee enters her college with her best pal Rochana talking about life and the lovely distraction it is till death meets all of us. Of course Vee has never known disappointment in her life because she has everything she has ever wanted: She owns a Mc Donalds’ store! She is as fat as they come but them boys love her nevertheless.

As they enter college Rochana sees something strange! Indeed! It’s a new boy at school. He is to be called Medu. (which rhymes with his real name…. ish) Medu is not every girl’s dream. He is exactly the opposite of that- short, stubby, unkempt hair and curly beard with specs that could blind a person, he is everything opposite of a dream. And yet, everybody seems to be flocking around him like he’s the only cronut left in New York. Apparently he’s aĀ genius but Vee doesn’t want to admit that. Vee and Rochana go to check out what the fuss is all about but don’t seem to get the hype and Vee decides never to add this boy on Facebook as her friend.

Then comes the scene of how brilliant Vee is in her favorite teacher Pranoti’s class. *Rochana coughs in the background. FArun stumbles in the corridor. Medu is trying to outsmart Vee in the sociology class but fails.*

Cue break time where Vee unites with all her friends in the foyer and then breaks into a choreographed dance routine about food and difficult decisions of what to eat *French guys try to imitate the steps, fail but still manage to look hot* Ryo and Kiyoshi judging Vee and her friends in Japanese and seriously considering their friendship.

During the song Vee realizes that she must make an effort to reunite with her love interest AH. But ugh, stupid boy doesn’t like the sweet girl next door, so Vee has to step up her game. In yet another item number (which plays under Aggie’s nose) Vee undergoes a transformation and becomes desirable and wild. Or whatever. Cut toĀ the next scene where Vee texts AH, ‘Hey wanna come over, watch a movie, make out and then get kicked out of my house like the dirty scoundrel you are:).’Ā 

Vee gets a disappointing reply back which makes her realize she is just more than a piece of meat and Nia take a baseball bat to remind AH what an asshole he is. In the pathos that the next scene generates the audience (and especially Karl Aaron) tear up to see how Vee strips herself off her former beliefs ( those that I, as writer of this post, has conveniently forgotten to mention in my character description.) Suddenly, (like how time flies in all movies) it’s Halloween and Vee has the biggest identity crisis. She doesn’t know who to be? Ā (Also she isn’t getting costumes in her size, but that aside.)

Then enter Medu, with his stupid face clean of all his beard. Vee sees him and feels a tingling in her Kanye West Down South. But this is not your ordinary love story. Okay? Okay.

“Hey,” Medu says, looking at her tenderly.

Vee raises her eyes to meet his. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to tell youā€”” he starts to say, smiling gently, as if in love.

“Yeah,” Vee is all shy.

“MY GPA IS HIGHER THAN YOURS SUCKAAAAAAA.”

……and that’s how Medu died.

If only.

Of course Vee didn’t kill him because otherwise this movie would never pass the censor board of India. Instead she decided she finally knew what she wanted to be on Halloween.

She picked up a cardboard and made a sign out of it. Then she wore the sign around her neck. It said : Slightly better version of myself. That’s what she would be on Halloween.

And maybe on the other days too.

Finally, as she sits on a carpet covered with candy wrappers (no way is she fitting into that Prom dress now) she hears a whizzing sound. First she thinks its only her dead grandma haunting her. But then she realizes that this sound is way too familiar.

“Come with me, Vee.”

She turned around and saw David Tennant. And a Tardis. Jesus, then he extended his arm and said, “Anywhere in this universe! Any planet you like. I am the Doctor!”

“We both know you’re just a good doppelganger with a very real looking time machine.”

“Really?” David Tennant smiled at her. “Why don’t you give it a go then?”

Despite being skeptical and probably high with all that sugar, Vee decided to step into that Tardis. It was bigger on the inside! Little did she know that the slightly better version of herself would not only be smarter that Medu (and I’m not talking GPAs here) but would also save lives.

Credits roll.

Hence, if my life was ever to be a movie, I’d be institutionalized by now.

-Vee

The day I met Benedict

I was one trippy suitcase away from losing the little sanity I had. That, and the ruse of confidence that I had managed to play up during the security check at the airport. I was sure America (like in all those movies) would find a way of making me look like a guilty brown girl trafficking back, um, way too many suspicious skittles. I could almost hear the guard saying, “Miss we have a problem here. We may have to detain you in a shabby prison for the rest of your life.” And then he’d snatch away my precious passport and leave me begging on my knees, in a totally not sexy way.

I don’t know why I’m scared of airports. I mean, when I was traveling from India to USA, I had this disturbing fear that they’d never let me go. And on the way back, I was scared that’d never let me come back. It is safe to say that being alone in an airport terrified the life out of me. The airport was the Big Bad Wolf and I was all Three Pigs in one: Naive, Stupid, and too much of an Ass to admit that I could go wrong sometimes.

So here I was all alone, very hungry and tad bit scared that at any time now I’ll be deported to Antarctica or something.

I decided to settle the important things. My luggage had already been checked in, so even if I didn’t reach India properly hopefully all the books I bought from Barnes and Noble will. My hand luggage had been sniffed by the electronic monster which meant they really couldn’t say I was carrying drugs, yada yada yada, cue CIA movies. So I HAD to eat.

Now eating alone in college is daunting enough. Try doing it at an airport where you can’t even pretend that you’re actually busy. I mean, I’m 18 sans un laptop, with a phone that will have free wifi for only about 20 more minutes and about 10000 copies of my flight details in case they find a reason not to let me on the plane. (Is this phobia even real?!) So I go down, taking a nice stroll, finding no place desirable enough to dine at. Where art thou, beautiful MCDonalds? Then I make the foolish mistake of going into a place that only accepts cards, but thankfully realize so without ordering anything first because then staying at this damn airport forever would be guaranteed. Anyhow I find an okay place and get a wrap (which I didn’t finish eating and brought back to India, a wrap that’s 16 hours stale and traveled across the world) and even got daring enough to get a coffee that I sipped while walking to my gate. After I get my passport checked and done, made conversation with a lady coming to India to ‘discover it’s beauties’ (aka people spitting pan onto the road) (I am not a cynic) I finally think, “Phew I might actually make it home.”

That’s when I let my guard down and decide on resting my bum.

At this point in time, the gates 71 and 72 the former to Mumbai and latter to London are thoroughly crowded. I give up pretenses of being really cool sipping my coffee that has burnt my tongue far too many times, and concentrate on finding a seat. THERE! I began moving toward it, almost running and succeeding if I didn’t have my stupid hand luggage whose wheels never spun in the direction I wanted to go. When I got there, huffing and puffing like a mad lady escaping from an asylum, I see this tall, light browned haired man eyeing MY seat.

Then he looked at me.

I could have fainted but I think the caffeine was keeping me upright.

He then did this little bow and motioned his hand to tell me I should take the seat. I did. Because as I mentioned I was still recovering from a bout of oh-my-god-is-he-cute-or-what?! Then I realized that the seat next to mine was empty too. Phew. At least now I didn’t have to feel bad about keeping him standing. Then, I realized,Ā oh the seat is dirtyĀ which is why he never sat there in the first place. I don’t know what got into me, but as he tried to make comfy with whatever the clean part of the seat offered him, I whipped out my handkerchief (which is extremely soft and precious to me) and give it to him to wipe his seat.

Did he have his own handkerchief? Probably. Why did I do what I did? I still don’t know.

After that, I resolved to put my earphones on and pretend like I didn’t care and I was a normal girl whp handed out handkerchiefs to everyone on every airport. Yeah. Yeah. Good cover.

It didn’t work.

He tapped me. I was forced to unplug my earphones but I knew I was hit by relief. I couldn’t just sit there pretending when obviously I have major social anxiety issues and what I did was not only brave but totally not me. I can’t even buy a ticket without getting nervous. Talking to complete stranger? Uh, no.
But here he was asking me what I was listening to and making a big joke out of the waiting area we were in. In due course he told me he was a photographer. (I should have guessed. He had camera round his neck and his hand luggage consisted of two camera bags) He asked me my age – Because I don’t know – I told him how this was my second flight ever and my 1st time being all alone. He asked me if I was going to London and that’s when I realized that he was. He told me he had just come from a photo shoot that he did for a magazine. I never bothered asking which one. He told me he had been to India, at which point I thought he was faking only to keep the conversation going. But then he said he lived at Bandra, got caught by the police at Juhu Beach for filming and was asked to pay a bribe and ended the entire story saying “Forking cops!” (Yes that’s exactly how he pronounced it.)

Too soon it was time for me to board my plane. The funny thing is his flight was supposed to take off before mine, at least half an hour. But it got delayed and he spent an entire hour with me instead. We both got up to queue at our respectful gates, he finally finding his friend who was supposed to accompany him. As I passed my the flight attendant to check my documents, I waved out to him. The tall lad in the wayward suit and tousled hair waved back and he kept smiling at me.

I may never meet him again.

Never. Ever. Ever.

And I keep reminding myself that. Two people at the same place, no matter how much it is planned, is a coincidence nonetheless. And it’s beautiful how moments like these can happen, how you can speak to someone who has a completely different world painted around, almost like a solar system of their own, where they are the center of everything. How they have different words that are precious, different bus handles to hold on to, different purposes to push to limit to. And for one whole second, if you’re lucky, their sun crashes into yours. And it’s chaotic and inconceivable and totally coincidental.

Mycroft: What do we say about coincidences?
Sherlock: The Universe is rarely so lazy.
(The Sign of Three, 2014)

“What is your name?” he asked me.

Having an Indian name I knew he would butcher it. “Salonie,” I said, slowly, feeling the word in my mouth.

“Salonie. It’s a beautiful name.”

“And yours?” I ask.

“Benedict.”

I freeze. Then unfreeze. Because no, even if by some chance I did manage to fall into some time travel shenanigans and meet the younger version, this is not how Ben looked like. Coincidence.

My face lights up silly.

I say, “I’m gonna be brave and presume that your surname is not Cumberbatch.”

“Definitely not that bloke!” he laughs.

-Vee

A. H.

I adjusted my tie.

I tried not to glance back in the mirror. I knew how I looked. Ragged. In some ways,. handsome. Every man likes to think the same. I tried to settle my wavy hair in slicked back waves, I drew a line of black under my beady eyes with kajal before the embarrassment killed me. I had dismissed my make up artist. I didn’t want the fuss of attending a Gala choke me in ways that I couldn’t cope with pressure and social obligations, not to mention the silly red carpet and the posing.

I was good with it. Brilliant. They loved me. The third person always did.

They didn’t even know me.

It was fifteen years ago when I received my first break. I was doing well even before then. On a small scale.
But when things are tiny, the pretending is easier. Putting up a show of ‘Who I Am’ to 5 million people is brutal.
I think I’ve forgotten too. I think it doesn’t matter anymore.

Hollow.

I close my eyes and snap my fingers. That’s how easy it has become. The next thing I know, I’m seated in my black limo, a couple of women pour champagne and a black guy wearing far too many tattoos stares moodily out of the window. I have tattoos too. They are called scars.

I interact. Detached.

When I get out of the car I smirk. Flashes blind me. But if I can smile absolutely gorgeous in the dead of darkness that is my life, these flashing lights should be a cake walk. I strut on the red carpet, with a famous actress on my side. Tomorrow they’ll debate the depth of our friendship, whether there is something going on, give us a cheesy couple name and resurface pictures of us from two years ago.

Cute.

Clunk, clunk. That’s when I heard her boots hit the ground. I turned to look at her, not realizing how hours had passed and I was sliding my way through the fifth glass of champagne. Brokae lights filled my vision, and I don’t know whether is was the whole hilarity of the glam and money in this room, but it did seem to be shinning, illuminating. Maybe it was all her.

Glowing.

It felt like it didn’t take me anytime to see her. Like she had popped in to say ‘Hello’ just from yesterday.
Because she had.
Not to say Hello, though.

The moment her eyes landed on me, round with realization, she ran toward me – boots clunking and all. She was dressed as a black swan. Feathers hit the ground she threaded on and covered every inch of her skin. The actress on my side pinched me and commented about the feathers. I, on the other hand wanted to touch the delicacy.

She didn’t want to say hi. She spread her arms like a bird ready for flight. She flew toward me with a smile that I had known from so long ago. That smile never seemed to fade. I had never known her without that smile. A smile that was happy, that was shy, that said ‘Sweetie you’re fooling no one. Least of all, me.’

I wasn’t fooling her. Not in this moment.

She was here in front of me in less than a blink of an eye. We looked the same, the same tarnished picture from 15 years ago. And I closed my eyes and didn’t snap my fingers. It was that difficult. But she always found a way to win even when she was losing everything. She stood on her tip toes and kissed me whole. Tips toes, because I was at least a foot taller than her.

“I always wanted to do that,” she said.

Brave.

She wouldn’t have ever done this 15 years ago. She never had, anyway.

I let my astounded face stand in front of hers, as for the first time I participated to struggle for words. She laughed, as the actress on my arm strayed away from me with disgust and jealousy. “Is that your girlfriend? She looks a lot like Heidi Klum.”

Her voice had changed. She could be so many different people I didn’t know but once upon a time we used to stay up till 3 a.m trying to figure out the world. She was my friend. An acquaintance. A little lesser than that, perhaps. We were nothing and something at the same time, revolving in different atmospheres, wearing different faces for different dresses. We were nobody together. I didn’t even know her.

She didn’t even know me.

I leaned in toward her, both of us seemingly suspended in the past. A past that lacked everything this moment had. Connection. Attraction. Us. Nice clothes. She knocked on my chest and not for the first time did she find it… Hollow. Only this time the sound was clearer, sharper.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

I held my hand out.

She held her hand to hold mine and in that tiny second, in a frame where time stopped, I saw a tattoo on her wrist.

A.H.

Those were my initials.

A tap on my shoulder shook me out of this void. I didn’t want to exercise and turn around, so I let my arrogant posture speak for itself and the man molded his body to interact with me. “Luke Gallaway,” he said to me. “My man are you giving us a run for our money!”

I bit my lip, shame – sadness clouded my head. My hand was still held out to her. But she twisted her arm away from me, rubbing her tattoo as if someone had stung her there.

Someone?

“Get out of here with you?” She laughed. She disguised everything so well. “Wouldn’t risk getting a tabloid article with you… Luke.” A lump fell down her throat as she uttered the unfamiliar name. She curtsied to the laughing man. And clunk, clunk.

She walked away from the man she didn’t know any longer, just as I had walked away from a girl who was trying to decipher A. H.

I wanted to scream out to her that I was still him.

This was all a mask.

Somehow she heard me and turned around.

We held our breath.

Stop for a moment.

Let me take your hand.

And I will smile at you. Because you will fill me with incredibility.

I will stitch your heart to the sleeve of my pink sweater, taking off the rusted silver one that hung there for ages.

Let us run into a place where the sky meets the sea, a holy illusion we will be.

We will swim though our legs will want to touch the bottom of the pits. The pits that contain you and me.

I want to show you the street turns with its pretty interceptions and green street signs, where our names will be etched like ‘5th and Madison Avenue.’

Let me get you to the crossroad where we it will pain us to decide what we want more – you, me or a burger.

and let’s settle on the burger.

I want to pull you up the hill which is not at all steep to climb, but when you roll down you’d feel your whole world collapsing. And then when we’re at the bottom, I’ll show you how the sun beams through the skeletons of the leaves, through the outline of the tree in the middle. You will see different patterns through the hollows, through the light, through the blueness of the sky and the not quite blueness of it too. And it will tell you the truth.

We will jump when we see three fighter planes zoom across the sky, throwing ourselves against fate wondering when the bombs will be hurled by. We will breathe a sigh, because it won’t be today and maybe, just maybe they came to say –

Hi.

I’ll say to you. And smile. Because I wouldn’t need words to tell you, to make you believe, to let you know anything. Hi, Hi, Hi. You are my smile. One syllable will be enough to last us an eternity.

And then when we’ll look out of our window, the tiny lil hole that’s the excuse of it, I’ll show you a rainbow in a place where light doesn’t even reach to reflect. And you will show me how we can see all the seven colors, maybe more, even though black is what the others see.

Let’s run fast, you know, till adrenaline takes over our instincts and you can feel this fire cracker in your chest, it’s bursting wanting to get out of your cage. And you will let it go, and you will let it go into the universe. And it will be beautiful.

Let me hold your face in my hands and pull it closer till I have memorized your breathing, the lines on your fore heard, the craters in your cheeks, the hook of your nose and the listlessness of your lips. Let me look into your eyes and know it’s going to be fine because tomorrow will be another day.

Stop for a moment and let me be by your side.

Stop for a moment, so I- –

-Vee

(Hold Back The River – James Bay, inspiration.)