When Silence Speaks...

“Is this your story?” She asked placing the manuscript on the coffee table and lighting her cigarette. “Does it matter?” He said looking out of the patio, sipping his whiskey. “Maybe. Maybe not. Question is, why are you afraid of confessing the truth?” She said with a mocking smile. “You have always been one nasty little bitch.” he said taking the cigarette from her and smoking a puff. “Yup when it comes to you, I am. Don’t change the topic.” “Oh come on.” He said grunting and shifting in his chair. “So, it is your story then.” She said taking the cigarette back. “Don’t you know by now, that we writers are scavengers. We feed off of our emotions and others alike. Every story we write has a glimpse of our soul.” he said making dramatic gestures. “No no no no, don’t give me your writer’s BS. What if she reads it?” She said shaking her head. “Hmmm” he hummed staring at the sunset on the highway. His apartment was on 22nd floor, with the view of freewa

There are days when I am in void.  I try to write something, but hardly can get a sentence completed. My mind doesn't want to think. I see bright sunshine outside and I know there's a beautiful trail somewhere that I can hit. But my body doesn't want to move. I force myself to read a book, but can't get myself to flip a page.  I pickup the guitar thinking of learning a new chord, but put it back even before I can finish tuning. I open the box of my hobbies, thinking of sketching, painting but barely can draw a line. I think of friends, see them on WhatsApp or Insta, but I don't feel like talking to anyone. I get on the floor and start doing push-ups, but within a few reps I am lying on my back staring at the ceiling, not wanting to move a muscle. I try to think of mountains, of oceans, of all the beautiful places I have travelled or want to travel, but I cannot focus, it seems like a cocktail of thoughts that makes no sense, so I st

The famous White cliffs of Dover and the Dover castle over the English channel. All in one picture. I remember that weekend in Dover to be bright, sunny and beautiful. And it is also a beautiful memory for me because I wasn't just with a group of friends, but I was with my then boyfriend, who had planned to spend his birthday in London. So it was a pleasant, romantic, fun filled weekend, and I remember every moment of it filled with so much excitement and happiness.  I am a different person today than what I was in Dover 12 years back, life does that you. You gather a lot of experiences over time and become what they call - mature and wise. But I keep my memories of London very close to my heart, because they remind me of that innocent girl who was completely oblivious to psychology of humans. Not that I have learnt my lessons now, am still ignorant of how people work. For once I can guess how God operates, but not people, for me they work in mysterious ways.

No matter how far he sailed, he knew he had to return to the world - a world different from his, but the one where a part of his soul lived. He would sail for countless nights, watching nothing but endless stretch of water with no horizon. He wasn't scared of getting hit by a storm or drowning in the vastness of the ocean. This was his home, he felt at ease in the water. But he always feared losing his way back to where he came from. He dreaded the thought of not being able to find the path to his home if and when he wished to return. That thought made him anxious. He loved ocean but he did not like the feeling of being stuck there when his heart yearned to be on the land. He wished for something that could guide him home. He had the stars to show the direction but he dint have a destination, something that would make him stop. Now, he had that something, that warded off the only nightmare of his life. He now knew, that sooner or later he will make it home, safe. F

"Have you ever observed dewdrops up close?" she asked looking at a shining dewdrop on the blade of grass right in front of her nose.  It was just a little over 5:30 in the morning, another 15 minutes for the sunrise. She was lying on the grass face down with her elbows propped up and chin resting on her palms, her knees bent, legs crossed with feet facing the sky.  He lay next to her, on his back observing the birds in the sky.  He turned around bringing his attention to her face, watching those strands of brown hair falling on her face dancing to the tune of the light breeze, he thought of the moment when he had seen her the first time. Running his finger along the outline of her arched neck, he said "Not really. Why?" They had walked, rather ran, 2 miles up hill at the break of the dawn to watch sunrise. This was their first sunrise out in nature together. "I find them amazing. So small, yet so defined. Every drop clear as a crystal and they shin