A curious cat!

Reality.. We have all been there - it comes in all forms -the small twinge of accepting a lie, a bit of soreness when things fall apart, the random sting of the implied taunt, the normal excruciating pain of denying the voices in your own head. And then there's the kind of reality you can't miss; so severe that it makes the rest of the world die away, until all you can think about is how much you hurt. It obstructs everything. How we ‘man-handle’ our stripped actuality is up to us. We abuse it, cherish it, blow it, embrace it, ignore it, and for a few of us to heal is just by pushing through. Like the other day when I got dressed and went out to meet a dear old friend, she said I looked pale and anemic. Even though I was absolutely fine, I could not understand why she would say that. After passing through the second cup of coffee, she finally told me that Maybe it’s the missing kohl in my eyes that made me look ailing. But that got me thinking. Isn't our everyday getting ...

He is burdened with the baggage of his own loneliness. Laying down on his bed, the impatience in his voids creeps into him. The pillows lay crushed with the weight of his melancholy. The half empty bed bursts out into a string of evil laughter. The unruffled sheets demand the scent of hot wet passion. Lust oozes out of his skin like sweat and love remains scarce as an endless famine. He is occupied though, surrounding himself with the scent of unfamiliar women. He tries to feed himself on the touch of women he wouldn’t mind replacing soon enough. His happy place lies in his everyday conquests. But it doesn’t worry me. Why should it? These young women have got nothing on me. They don’t taste like me, or buy him hope like I did. Their entwined fingers cannot satisfy his thirst for warmth. They will never look at him with the longing that I fill myself with. They cannot write unsung songs that compliment the rhythm of his melodies.  They can't be me. People use ...