Bus Ride Realizations - They don't even need words!

A middle aged couple sits in front of me. 

Happy survivors of the empty nest syndrome. 

Clearly, the lady has given up on make up a long time ago,

for why would you hold on to something that isn't anymore a necessity? 

That dim happy glow on her face is enough.
The man? 

Balding. Slight paunch. Weak eyesight.
She's sitting by the window and he's next to her, in a bus seat that's too tiny for his bulky, square frame.
Honestly, it doesn't look like it matters to them. 

She's already subconsciously hunched her shoulders and he's sitting as tenderly as possible, so as not to let his weight rest on her frame.
I've a weird obsession with jigsaw puzzles and right now they look like two pieces that fit the frame perfectly.
They're talking.
No.
Strike that.
They're having a conversation.
For,

 Once the bliss of newly married life walks away, leaving in its wake bitter sweet memories,
Once all the friendships you promised would be forever - get lost in the sands of time,
When your children who were once too tiny to reach the cookie jar on the high shelf -

find the house too tiny for their giant ambitions

 and

 they decide to fly away- 

what remains,
IF you're lucky,
is just conversation. 

He's taller than her.
And obviously, occasionally, she rests her head on his shoulders.
And he looks down at her with a mix of so many emotions. 

Grateful about her presence and still in a slight disbelief about his stoke of luck are the two most prominent ones.
They're exchanging glances now. 

They don't even need words. 
A shy smile here, a slight chuckle there, a stare held just a little longer than necessary, that's all.
They understand.
Her phone vibrates. A Whatsapp notification. 

He respectfully looks away. 

She doesn't bother hiding it anyway. 

For what is more intimate and private than the two of them?
When my parents go out on vacations together, I hope they have their moments like these.
Because.
Forget what all the books and movies and Instagram poets say, this probably is love.
Ability to communicate.
Ability to appreciate.
Ability to compromise.
Ability to stay.
Ability to struggle alone.
Ability to struggle together.
Ability to go through hell together and still have respect left for each other.

And honestly, even this is not enough.
It's the simple act of making a conscious choice to act on all these abilities.

It's the understanding that relationships take work, 

and the willingness of choosing to pour out that effort with all of your heart,  
and

The willingness to stick to your choices.
That is love.

~WispySilver

Of Star-Dust and Unplanned Naps

You start small.

You start by realizing that you’ve been stunting yourself, cutting corners to fit into a box that someone else chose for you.

You start by realizing that the bed you’ve been sleeping in has lost all its utilitarian value.

It can no longer hold the ever growing, magical phenomena called your body now; 
it is way too old for that.

You know; honestly,

The fact that you exist is a miracle in itself!

The odds of you never coming into existence surpass the minuscule chance of your presence by a mind blowing margin, and yet,

Here you are!

Coursing in your veins is ancient wisdom,

Elements of a star that probably once shined brighter that the Sun,
now run through your body,

You are a living, breathing bit of star-dust, born with a spark in your brain and twinkle in your eyes,

You were here to change the world!
And;

As if your existence wasn’t miracle enough, 
your survival is a different wonder in itself!

Every day that you’ve been here, your body has always had the choice to simply stop existing.

So many people die every day;

‘His heart gave out’,

‘She’s brain dead. A vegetable, capable of life, incapable of living it’

‘The voices in her head got to her. At her own hands, she’s passed’

You hear these words often enough for it to feel like a normal occurrence

And yet,

Your body chose survival!

But what have you done to this little bit of magic called you?

You’ve denied it even the simple pleasures it deserves,

Simple pleasures – of good food, of good company and of a good night’s sleep

Lying down, curled up and crumpled - on a small cramped bed you never chose - you’re punishing yourself, but why?

So,

You start small.

You start by realizing that the bed you’ve been sleeping in has lost all its utilitarian value.

It can no longer hold the ever growing, magical phenomena called your body now; 
it is way too old for that.

You start by deciding that you deserve a bigger place for your weary body to rest.

You start by explaining to yourself that sometimes, 
money needs to take a back seat when essential comforts are running the show.

You start by not going on a guilt trip after you’ve brought the bigger bed, 
convincing yourself that it is okay, partially because you need it and partially because you can afford it.

The first time you sleep on this gigantic bed, big enough for three other people like you,

You sleep on one side.

Extreme Left

Or

Extreme Right

If your old bed was stuck against the wall, and you’re used to getting off the bed from one side alone, chances are- it’s the same side you choose here as well.

And you wake up awkward and cramped again
 and you wonder what went wrong.

You’re on a big bed, you’ve earned it, you’ve brought it, but evidently;
you’re still not convinced you deserve it.

Looking around in that typical, groggy haze that a badly timed, unplanned nap brings along, it sort of smacks you in the face:

The awareness that you’ve the entire big bed to yourself

It’s a box you’ve chosen for yourself, it’s a box you do not have to share.

So as you roll over again to the center of that soft cloud of comfort, 
wrapping yourself up in a warm blanket in the process,

You let out a muffled, satisfied exhale and you realize:
 

Your time has finally arrived.

And then you snore with gay abandon.

The Angel's Bleeding Rag Doll

"That's the thing about suicide. Try as you might to remember how a person lived his life, you always end up thinking about how he ended it."

~Anderson Cooper 

When did we decide that Empathy was uncool?

That Care meant Clingy, and clingy was annoying,

and Concern, joblessness?

Why did, 'I'm busy' become cooler than, 'I'm here for you.'?

When did we become scavengers -picking up on other people's vulnerabilities and miseries and pain, picking up all those dirty, rotten, unwanted parts of peoples' lives they'd rather discard - for our tea time gossip?

When did 'talking about' become more acceptable than 'actually talking to'?

Asking for help is the one of the bravest things someone can do-

to admit that you're broken and in need of fixing and that you need help because you can't save yourself from the demons in your head but you still want to survive, damnit! 

A part of you begs for the pain to stop, for the sweet embrace of death to be that one final shot to kill the pain, and another part, the part that still has it's ancient, ancestral, warrior, fighter, survivor instincts, wants to battle on. The battlefield of the mind is an exhausting place to be, and half your troops are fighting against their will. 

When did this turbulent, bloodless gore become pathetic, unacceptable and attention seeking?

A bleeding accident victim, lying on the road like a rag doll screaming in pain for help isn't what you'd call attention seeking, would you?

Then how come someone who's body is at war with their own mind, with the former fighting to survive and the latter dreaming of sweet demise - a theatrical performance? 

The truth you lack sight of, is still the truth,

The pain you cannot see does exist, and it still inflict its victims, engulfs and swallows them whole, 
to this fallen Angel of pain, it doesn't matter if the crime has a witness or not. 

This Angel gets to everyone at his own untainted pace. 

Your apathy only speeds up the process. 

And once the victim is captured, taken under the dark, heavy, unforgiving wings of this fallen Angel, to be crushed and lost and disintegrated into dust forever, 

You hope its done. 

You hope that The Angel will fly away, return to where ever it came from. 

You couldn't save her, you underestimated her pain, you weren't enough, 

but now she's gone and you're still here and you hope she's taken this pain away with her as she leaves, 

Her final goodbye present to you, perhaps?

And all you do is hope and pray that she's no more in pain. 

But this Angel, this wretched Angel of pain, is a fallen one.  Cast out of heaven for his rebellion, he has no where to go to and all the time to stay. 

He's still around. 

He's slowly starting to creep on to you. 

A cold shiver runs down your spine, a feeling of dread fills you up, 

as you realize,

It's all yours, 

It's here to stay, 

This angelic outcast 

fondly spoken of as, 

The Pain of Regret. 

 ~~~

Hey, Ruchika? I don't think I'm ever going to stop missing you.