I met
this old woman
one time
at a bus stop.
“do you got money to
get me home?”
she asked.
I checked. no cash.
I shrugged.
her heavy eyes looked at me
full of cynical sly and
a broken smile,
and said,
“life’s a pitch.”
she couldn’t pronounce her ‘b’s.
That’s all it is.
Few minutes ago, a funny thing happened.
I was applying for full-time jobs, maybe even a little worried at the back of my head if I’d get one on time or not. I don’t get stressed out usually. And I’m still not, but yes I was concerned.
Was.
Not anymore.
Why?
Because I saw this on Instagram from one of the people I follow on there:
“Life is fucking crazy, yo. Today’s doctor appointment confirmed my health issues are possibly ovarian and cervical cancers.”
And she posted an ultrasound of the 5 inch wide mass of cancer growing inside her.
Fuck. And I was worried about getting a job.
It’s all how you look at things I guess.
“What do you want?”
I wondered, as I looked
right at the question.
I thought of many things
they never put on the menu.
like a job, a truck,
food, always more food,
a little gas money, an expensive guitar,
more open roads, less speed limits.
freedom.
time.
things they can’t give me.
“By the way, I like your hair.”
I’d rather take coffee than
compliments right now, I thought
to myself.
Just coffee, I replied.
“And how would you like it?”
Black – like my soul.
What I find amusing about Texas weather is that it changes a lot. I mean multiple times a day. I vaguely remember one day in August I checked the weather before going out, and it was a promising 85 with sun shining nice and high. An hour later I get out of this meeting, and it’s fucking pouring down. I’m damn sure they put out flash flood warning for that shit. You could have just floated in your boat and sung those rain songs on your way back home in that much water which collected there in last hour and only God knows how. That was my first encounter with this mood of nature. Everyone around me acted like it was normal.
Truth be told, it didn’t turn out to be a good day. I’m not a big fan of multiple showers a day. I barely get on with the required one. And that gray sky, it pisses me off. You can’t go out, and that alone restricts me to do stuff. Do stuff. Something. Anything. That’s what I do. All the time. And the rain basically told me, hey you, fuck off. And I’m just sitting there sipping my coffee listening to an intelligently picked mellow music playlist specially curated for rainy days in my room running out of ideas to DO stuff. I never liked being restricted.
I like my freedom. I like my options open most of the times. And I get it that you can’t always have whatever you wish for, but most of the times, I just need the freedom to think and act on. That’s pretty much what I desire from people around me. And from life overall. But rain devoid me of that freedom. Unless you give me a soccer ball and couple of humans. Then I’m the happiest kid in the world.
But this story here is far from being a happy story. It’s not going to be pretty, or colorful, or even have a happy ending after all the bullshit. There’s no doodling with crayons. Yeah, the movies lied to you. As of now, it doesn’t even have an ending. Because shit seems to keep going on and on. Forever and ever. And for as long as the shit keeps going on, there will be a writer bored out of his fucking mind writing about it.
Because somebody gotta entertain, ain’t that true? So be it. I’ll keep writing, and you keep reading.
This story is just a usual story. A regular story about guys and girls. A guy and a girl in particular. They could be anyone. Look around you. To your left. To your right. Now look in the mirror. That’s right. Stare right into those eyes who are staring back at you. They could be you too.
They could be anyone, and no one. And that was what’s so beautiful about them. They could pretend like they were the only two people that God ever intended to create on this planet we call home, but they could also pass each other on an empty street and not even look at the other, even though their bodies knew the other was just a breath away.
They were intense, yet hollow.
They were fire, yet a snow storm.
Burning up to their desires, arctic cold to their souls.
Honestly, they both were full of shit. That’s what I think about them. And about every other guy and girl who think they are the special one.
Sure. Why not?
And I’m Brad Pitt.
PS: How’s this for the beginning of a Novella people?
I decided one time
not long ago
that I’ll keep running
no matter who comes and go
but few miles in
and I found myself
running out of water,
food and breath.
shit.
I supported my arms on
my shaking legs and
looked down at my worn-out
shoes. they were
barely breathing, like
unconscious soldiers on
a battlefield.
how great it was to see them
being one with
my breath.
what a love story. what a tragic death.
so I stopped, and
looked around and
asked myself,
what do you do when you’re
hungry, and you can’t find
a restaurant?
you make your own damn food.
Never take advice from someone working in corporate.
Chances are,
they don’t value their creative freedom
over things like money,
status, appearance and other shiny stuff.
They will never know
what creating something freely feels like.
It’s not living
a dream, it’s living
a lie.
i don’t want to consume it,
i want to
experience
it.
Shall I compare you to a rainy day?
You are more thunderous and wet
with misery, giving turbulent winds a way,
Reminiscence of the time we met,
Sometimes too noisy for the eager ear,
And often making the landscape dreary,
Always gray and too much to bear,
Exploring and exploiting the confused and weary,
But your eternal excitement will never fade,
Nor the smile you put on my face will die,
For you’ll be the broken star to whom I prayed,
Leaving behind a trail of stardust in that rainy sky,
So long as your heart can see what’s essential & right,
So long lives this, and you, and your yellow light.
This one is truly reflective and thoughtful. Go ahead, give it some time.
I agree with the part of having the courage to pursue your passion, that too when there are no yardsticks to tell, whether the content you write, is good enough to share or not. And most people don’t even get it. Post a stupid selfie on fb and you will get all the ego boost and approvals to make you feel happy about yourself but when you write stuff, people don’t get it.
And the art classes we have encourage drawing an apple even if you want to draw a swan.
The shallow regular people get more nods.
Being proud of your siblings achievements
Give a great high
Specially when you remember that it was cats and dogs relationship as kids.
Facebook: @AakashWrites
Instagram: @aakash_tyagi
Life in a blog 