Escape to Sunny beach Point

I want to run way. I suddenly feel the adventure boiling in my bloody, a fleeting memory a want to escape and go. To hop onto a flight and not return, to watch innumerable sunsets and smile at myself in the sand beaches and waves. I can see myself throwing my clothes into a suitcase, tears streaming down my face, screaming as I throw things around as if I've lost something, as if something has been taken away from me.

I throw clothes in mindlessly, shove my suitcase shut and drag it off my bed. My sheets get caught and I yank them off. I tear down the pictures from my walls. I collapse in a heap, it burns inside and no one comes to pick me up but I hear soft whispers of people. Of those voices trying to hold me and pull at me. Boys voices, girls voices. They float through the air like feathers and they surge and get calmer and softer. My breathing stabilises and I feel lighter. I stand up and wipe my face. Walk into the bathroom and wash the tears off, the cold water stinging my red cheeks, agitated and angry. I pick up my phone from the table, book a cab and switch off all the lights. I shut the door, pull my jacket tighter around my arms and again the tears well up. I want someone to hold my waist from behind, beg me to not leave, to kiss my head, breathe warm breath down my neck and tell me they want me to stay. Instead I turn to the grey skies and walk down the stairs, out onto the road.

I feel like I will walk around aimlessly on the quiet streets, watch people walk by, sit in coffee shops till my money runs out, the same jacket, the same clothes, the same dead eyes. I will feel the greyness, watch peoples movements, their laughter, the anger, happiness, love maybe.I will yearn for them. For love. People will smile sadly at me through the glass windows. My eyes glazed over. I walk through hotel lobbies, change my clothes, get out again. Fall asleep in metros. Wake up to the loud laughter of drunk men. Drag myself out, sit on the sidewalk in a broken colony, in the dark night, and cry. A dog barks. I walk away.

I sit in the cab instead and type in my details. I switch off my phone and rest my head on the cool grey glass. It's foggy outside and I see so little, the warmth of the car makes me feel sleepy. I get off at the airport. Stand in the lines of people not really going anywhere. We're never really getting anywhere, we all stand in lines, peaceful lines with a buzz of announcements. Straight lines, curvy lines, that zig-zag across the posh carpeted floors and endless lives laid out like the repetitive patterns. There's the hushed obvious whisper again. And I walk onto the airplane, sadly looking at the sky outside. The people bundled up in jackets, in scarves, boots, gloves. With blank stares. They get on and off the bus. I sit in my seat and fall into a deep deep sleep.

I see myself watching the sunset. Sitting in a floral print wrap over and bikini. My hair flies around my face. My skin is brown and my muscles harder. I breathe in and close my eyes. It's a hill I think and the sun sets over the ocean. Yellow, burning like a tiger in the fire. It's quiet. Someone walks upto me, in shorts and an open shirt. We don't speak and just watch it. I turn and smile at him. We get up and walk away. At night I see myself in a room with whitewash. It's a small room with a bed and clean sheets and candles. I can't tell whether the man I'm sleeping with is in love with me. It changes every day. I have a job. I work everyday. And no one calls me. And everyday I watch the sunset. And no one calls me. At night I stare and the flickering candles on the ceiling, someones arms around me, as I listen to the waves. The patter of the rain, the alive ocean, the cold. The soft yellow and whites against are a comfortable memory. I sometimes wonder how I see myself as this older person, taller and lean. Beautiful and wild. Emptier than ever. Lonely. In Love. Waiting for a call. Waiting for Love. For my back to cave into someone's warm chest. My heart beating against his. It all blurs and fades into backness.

Fire and Cold Blood

The cold breeze cuts. What's with cold breeze? My attempts at consistent writing evidently failed. I want to feel the cold. I can't explain what's happening to me anymore. I just can't. I sit on the edge of sidewalk, my arms wrapped around myself. My eyes focus and unfocus, things become distant and come closer and further. The clarity is gone in everything. Her face, with her curly hair, I listen, the words hit me but I can't comprehend them. I hear her, watch them form perfect syllables, then she slaps me awake. I want another cigarette. I haven't eaten for three days. My head pounds. I can't understand what's happening. I want to take off my shoes and walk on the cold hard ground. I want to just walk, walk into the dark night, walk under yellow street lights. I look like a corporate hooker today. The red hurts me. I feel like I've been shot, I feel like there's blood on my hands. I want to touch blood, the warmth of it dripping down my fingertips. I dig my nails into my skin, my fist closes harder. I close my eyes, everything is a blur in the darkness. They talk to fast and then slow. I can't hear them. I hear the honking in the street, the blankness of my mind, the darkness closes in. I want to hug it, stop breathing. I wake up at night cuz I stop breathing. It's such a familiar feeling now that I smile every time I think about it. I'm not fucked up. I'm not, I look into the mirror, my eyes too wide pen, my lips tremble as I repeat it. I'm happy, I'll be okay. But why? I am okay maybe. Maybe I'm telling myself I see things, I think too, I see them kiss me. I see a birthday cake, and a happy family, everyone sings around her, but she looks at their weary outlines, a haunting voice touching her heart.

I walk under the street lights. No one looks for me. They don't want to. I laugh. Maybe I laughed too hard. And then everything is quiet. And then I hear them hiss and laugh. It becomes louder. And louder. And I hear footsteps. I think he's coming. He's going to push me isn't he? Into an abyss of loneliness and darkness. Me in my red shirt and blue skirt. Till I float into those worlds that I see in my peripheral vision. Black, blue, red, black, smoky and clean at the same time. The earthy smell mixed with a all so familiar perfume.

And then I look at the patterns on the ground, the coffee in front of me, ice cold, tasteless. I silently stir it and watch people laugh. They're all so happy. So content. In that darkness I see that again and again. Like a silent film. They laugh and turn to me, laugh louder. I suddenly want to scream. I want to kill the silence. The soundless laughter. The kindness. Their joy.

I throw up tar. I feel dizzy, lighter, but not wiser. I reach for someones hand, for someone to listen to the music playing in my head as I sit still and count my breaths in time with my heartbeat. I trip and someone holds the back of my shirt but my hands touch the ground. I look at them. The white skin peeling off. The blood surges and spreads, the long cuts flow into the lines on my hands. All of a sudden I'm furious. I want to cry and yell at someone. I turn around and no one's there.

I walk into the forest.I walk down the tar road of school. There's a candle in my hand. I want to burn something, I want to light the hills on fire. My hair flutters around my face. I'm cold but I don't care anymore. I walk past the white houses, the wire mesh windows. People sleep so peacefully. The trees creak and sway in their familiar way. Tonight there are no guards. Tonight I hear only the trees, people breathe so peacefully. The light of the white solar lamps cast shadows on their faces. Their pale skin, long lashes, I want to touch them, trace each feature in the ghostly night time. So innocent, so calm. I walk down, past homes, past school, past the cars, the telephone booth, I watch the moon. I feel the leaves beneath my bare feet. It gets colder. I turn left. I know the exact place. I glance at the window and I see another candle, I hear soft voices. I hear breathing. I know whose inside. Their bodies flicker like their souls. They twist and turn, the yellow and black shadows on the white walls. I throw my candle inside and close my eyes as everything burns. The smoke rises and it's warm then. And I smile. And the silence encloses me once more.

Blue Tinted Polaroids and Piano Music

Today is the second day of my writing. I have decided I will write as often as I can. Maybe even if it's just thoughts. A documentation of a life.

I slept at an unearthly hour, with a feeling that isn't leaving me. It's a pain, an emptiness. I woke up not wanting to get up. No, it was not because it was extremely cold. It was because I felt like melting into my bed and never wanting to wake up. It perhaps comes from my fear that one day I will forget how to breathe at night and I will die. It's a comforting thought. Just stopping breathing. It'll fade like a dandelion blowing the wind. Think of grey skies, clouds and a field with a single dandelion, white and delicate. And one by one each little feathery piece floats into the wind and never really comes back. I want each breath to also fade like that till the last one remains. Then that too floats away calmly. The wind carries it away like a soul breathing in the snowy winter. Light, soft and weightless.

The sun is white against the grey skies. I want it's warmth to touch my eyelids as it dapples the way it does in movies. Or the way I'd wake up in school, the sun shining through the windows on Sunday mornings. Instead I watched the blue printed curtains become pale in the greyness of the morning. From pearl grey, to a darker grey like the skies of England. I snuck in further under the covers and breathed in my own scent. It mixed with his, a faint reminder. It never seems to leave me. I desperately try as I spray on stronger perfume but in random hints he appears like a shadowy memory under my covers.

The day seemed most uninspiring as I went to open the curtains. It seemed like the sun was promising to come out but in its resistance it hid. Sometimes I wonder if everyone has their own secrets. Do all living things live with the guilt that I live with? I sat in bed, wanting to hide again, refusing to fold my quilts so that I could hide. I wonder from what I'm hiding. Myself? My mother? Work? I answered all my messages and listened to my song on repeat for the 30th time in the past two days. The feeling of lonely dread captured my senses once more. I want to shut down. A song from school echoes in my head like the memories. The ghosts of my mistakes ripple through my head, down my skin, I can't decide what I want anymore.

I snap, I work like a robot, obeying instructions, move, every piece of me independent from the last. I feel like I've been broken down to fit into the system of Taylorism. My feelings are being forced to be that as well. Un-cohesive. Colours, musings, vibrations, solutions to my desires to have sex again, to be loved, to crave an affection, to have meaning, purpose. Then there's the feelings. All those feelings I get when I listen to a piece of music. The sadness in that one song.

I can't explain why I feel that way. I hear the words. They're so familiar, so real. I feel like it's a movie. My life plays out in similar ways. I can see the washed out colours, the blue tint, the grey tint. The dirty clothes, the musty smells as I smoke a cigarette and walk down a street full of heroin addicts. I see them spin. I stood in my room today evening , craving someone to dance with me. Instead I just spun in circles. Around and around, letting it flow. I see myself as a child. Content but lonely. I know I have constructed these feelings. But the blue tinted colours of my life refuse to leave. It feels like a polaroid, a time in which I see my mother living. A time I see myself fit into perfectly.

I spent the day watching a movie, watching tv, not really feeling much. The movie made me feel a bit. The flitting from memory to present to back. The shadows. The yellows, the soft lines, the small parts of a larger scene. A picture, a photograph, time stills, I stop breathing, I watch closely, I hear a voice narrate kindly. The movie makes me think once in a while. The beauty of discovering something new. The joy I might have felt. The fear as well. The intense love for another person. Would i ever be able to take that risk?

Will I always think of myself as someone whose difficult, unresponsive, scared. Someone who thinks she can't reveal but is so brutally honest in reality. I tell myself I'm holding in but I tell so much. I don't want to. I hold in tears, and the colours rush. I see blues again. Whites, I'm not sure where I'm going. I want to stumble around. Cry. I desperately want to cry but I can't. And now here I sit listening to piano music, writing. Typing. I t makes me feel like a writer. The keys clacking away furiously. I feel satisfied now. I feel the pain. The sweetness of it. The hurt in my chest, in my shoulders. My neck and back. I want someone to understand this so badly. I can't explain why.

I can't decide why I'm writing. I listen to the music. I see stories. I see myself. Things that will happen to me. Things I want so badly. Happiness. Pain. Clarity. Love. Why do I want these things when I don't even know what they mean and why I want them? Things don't make sense. I will go to work tomorrow. I will strive to fix my broken relationships. I will advice my friends, think of the bottle of vodka at the back of my cupboard, think of ways to go for the party on Thursday night. I will listen to more piano music maybe, compose a dance, a scene, an emptiness, a blank space as I close my eyes in the metro and listen. And I will ask myself why I'm really alive. And it will happen the next day. the the day after. And I will not know why.