gag on sequins

tripping on shoelaces - expected but surprising each time

a pestilential fever settles some nights, on my cold neck, burgeoning through my cold limbs, these hands that give and give but never take. this wretched body of mine is filled with intemperate boiling rage, at the unfairness of it all.

i know little, but what i do, i know for sure.

i run very cold.
i cannot wrap my palms against my shoulders and rub - they're even colder.

i cannot express, a flaw rather as stupid as a flower that blooms only at night. if i can write words on these fucking sheets no one will ever read - why can't i utter them in a crowd?

the last isn't as sad as it sounds.
i care for boys who do not care.

(and girls. tragic yet hilarious how bad my luck is.)



the first was when i was eight. he was a little like a fairy - loved art, nature and was so playful. he was so very kind, his eyes crinkled when he smiled, a smile so distinct and impish - my father tells me i smile like him sometimes. it catches me off guard, it always does. i tilt my head, and smile.

one windy evening, i sat on a swing at his house, crying. he said nothing, went to his drawer full of crayons and paint - and came back with a blue star shaped glass rock. the sun was setting outside. he dragged me to the balcony, and the star turned rainbow.

i keep the star in a box. it does not see the light of day.

he was the first to care.

he might've been happy - i'll never know - but he missed his father deeply. he lived in a different city. so when he learnt he could move to be with him, he was ecstatic.

i was not. perhaps i can forgive younger me for being selfish enough to not want him to go. was i not entitled to a little sadness?

i saw him last on my birthday that year, at school. i scoured the school that evening for him. i never found him that day. after five years of knowing each other, i never said goodbye.

he was the first boy i cared for.
he was the first to leave.



the second was a girl.
i was older now, more mature. i met her online.

she is the only person in this piece that doesn't sound beautiful in any way, that i can describe both entirely, and not at all.

she is so loving. i don't think any other word would be accurate enough.

she cared for the parts of me i had tried to carve out and for the passions i had tried to bleed dry and snuff out.

oh, and her laugh. she had these two crooked front teeth, whenever the slightest smile graced her face, they would project out. when she laughed, i swear harpsichords played in harmony.

the first time she baked a cake that didn't taste like concrete ( i would've devoured every piece of cement and gravel she gave me till my intestines turned grey if it made her smile ) she was absolutely thrilled, and wrapped me in a hug.

we are not touchy people. i think i stopped breathing for a second. she felt so safe, like soup on a couch when its raining and you're sick and spent the entire day watching old movies.

funnily enough, she was the second person i never said goodbye to.

it was december - christmas break to be precise. she left one night, to university.

in a different world, i could've gone with her to the train station, could've watched her board, could've run in last minute to be swept up by her in a hug ( oh, she was so much taller than me ).

in this world, none of that happened.
i wasn't in town to say goodbye.

(perhaps all of this is me being wishful. realistically, we never had a chance.
i disliked her parents. she was, and continues to be closer with another person, a person i'm no longer friends with, who has made it clear that he does not like me. i can say it doesn't matter, that any love she has for me is enough as long as she remembers me eternally, but it tears me up inside to know she cares for others more than me. i can't be jealous, she's happy, living - i love her but i love her bliss more[i hate it ]. why couldn't she do that with me? i gave her every bit of love i had to give.

we still text. i have learnt that you can care for someone and they can still let you go. nonetheless, i will love her till the day i die. )



the third, was a boy who perhaps doesn't count. we spent a few months getting close, he's still a friend of mine, but in the middle i swore i felt something.

i was disgustingly delighted when you said i looked lovely in a sari, when you said i looked pretty before christmas.

i was disgustingly angered when you insinuated i was fat. (my mouth turns bitter at the truth. i have a thing for jokesters. this one was different though, sometimes the jokes dug in with huge fangs into old wounds. i can understand jokes, but the eating disorder in me, the part i have tried to fight against, comes alive. funny how i am a fool, and that is the only thing that has stood the test of time.)

i was disgustingly annoyed when we went bowling and i hit a wall and hurt my thumb and you said it looked like i cut myself. i rolled my eyes. (WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS. SO WHAT IF I CUT? SO WHAT IF I WANT TO FEEL SOMETHING. I SEETHE AND SEETHE AND SEETHE UNTIL NO PART OF ME ISN'T SOME COLOUR OF RED OR VIOLET OR BLUE. i still don't know your favourite colour. we don't talk about the trivial things. i know you can see without your glasses and that you'll wear anything a friend gives you. i don't know enough though. perhaps for good reason.)

this boy makes me feel things like insecurity and makes me laugh at bad jokes, and he is the only boy on the list i can say i don't love.

perhaps fate is merciful, at times.



the last boy isn't last at all but first in every aspect that matters.
i couldn't describe him in a few lines even if i tried.

i know this, however. if i run cold, i'm sure he'd get me a blanket.

for once, maybe there is hope.
for the first time, i care for a boy who might just care.