The Real Life

The Real life

In Real Life , you don’t let go of people as easily and effortlessly as the fairy tales teach you. Or as letting go of a balloon on a crowded luxury street, where you don’t even notice the balloon you just let out.

In Real Life, it’s much harder, more painful and more mind-fucking. It takes away more sleep, gives more paranoia and makes you imagine worse things than you could be doing on drugs(if you are like me, a paranoid druggie). 

Then you yell at that someone, if things are still fine and he calls you or takes your calls.. but like, in most of the cases, you text them abusive stuff and then they text you back a mere “grow up” or similar. And it infuriates you and then you begin contemplating, and begin regretting, regretting him more than the texts you sent, and the abusive language more than ever giving him a chance when you never even found him close to attractive.. and then you sit up and think – I thought I was better than that, I thought I would let go gracefully, I am not immature, how dare he call me that.

And then these things run on loops in your head, over and over again… till its 5am.. and you are frustrated to not be able to sleep, and whilst all this, he is fucking her, or she is fucking him, or they are dead asleep or texting each other or there is a new prey…. Why am I even thinking all this, I know I don’t care.
Then you keep having these make-believe situations in your head of the future, of the surprise run-ins, and it never fucking ends. And you don't wanna think of that old part of your life anymore, but here you can't stop. You regret even letting it be a part of you for as long as you did, but you can't still stop thinking..

And insomnia, gifted to you… this is what happens in Real Life. In the Real Life, there are no gracefully, with poise, letting gos. We are humans, if we get hurt – we abuse, if we get hurt intentionally, we hurt them back. Even if I come from the Land of Gandhi, I am not Gandhi, that is why there was only one, Mahatma!

In the Real Life, you never receive flowers, or texts or incessant phone calls till your heart melts, no guy runs after you when you walk away.

In Real life, boys don’t come running back to you in the middle of the night, don’t sneak in through your window or buy you chocolates or sing you songs or hold your hands when you are mad at them, they don’t pick you up and scare you till you start laughing and forget whatever made you mad.

In Real life, They just leave and never say a word to you again.
And you have to make that choice to let go and never look back.

All heroes have scars..

We all carry with us the things that we could not let the world to see,
they could be drowning us from within, they could be making us happy,
We could be ashamed for the world to see them,
We could be caging them so they could not flee,
I carry something too
I carry you with me.

I carry you everywhere I go,

You meet me when you’re there,

You meet me when you're not,

You meet me when I’m hoping you’ll be there,

You meet me when you’re far away, in a corner,

You meet me when we both pretend like we couldn’t care,

You meet me when you tell me I have glitter on my eyes,

You meet me when you cant look away,

 when I’m dancing with other guys,

You meet me when the words I didn't say haunt me,
You meet me when my friends surmise you like me,
You meet me everywhere I go,

And now you’re gone.

I thought it’d hurt me, I thought it’d make me cry,

But I’m happy,

Gone is the power you had over me,

Gone are the hopes I had,

Gone are the 11:11 wishes,

Gone are the drunk tweets for you,

The regrets of not having said or done what I should have,

The completeness of just your presence,

The tiring effort to like half of who a person you were,

Gone are the attempts to balance between strong like for you and my self-respect,

Gone are the oh-someone-else-is-saying-what-I-want-someone-else-to-say,

Gone are the late night make-believing of where we vent out and shape our future,

Gone are the mind-chains binding me to you, Here’s to freedom,

Gone are all the thinking about you, persuasion,

No more waiting for you to comprehend me,

No more trying to drop my ego and express,

No more waiting for you to break through my walls,

Babe, now bridges are burnt and the pages have turned,

You could be with any girl in the world,

It wouldn’t even matter anymore cuz it’s all gone. You took it along.

You were no incessant texts, you were no keeping promises, lending hoodies,

You were no love letters, drunk-late night long phone calls,

You were no rainy nights, holding hands, moon-light making out,

You were regrets, disappointments, defying logic, big mouth and bigger walls.

  

Pablo Neruda

"I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.” 
― Pablo Neruda

"You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming."
- Pablo Neruda

"And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us."
-Pablo Neruda

“Well, now
If little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you
Little by little
If suddenly you forget me
Do not look for me
For I shall already have forgotten you

If you think it long and mad the wind of banners that passes through my life
And you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots
Remember
That on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms
And my roots will set off to seek another land” 
― Pablo Neruda, Selected Poems

“so I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
Till then my windows ache.” 
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

“I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.” 
― Pablo Neruda


“Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us” 
― Pablo Neruda



“Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.” 
― Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair



“Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?” 
― Pablo Neruda