The five feelings of grief are the elements, Of the bento box of my life recently, Complementary to the flavours of my memories, Spiced up with anger, Along with the saltiness of the bargain, There's the umami of sadness, With the bitter denial in play. Then comes the sweetness of acceptance that I partially have, This bento box is full of feelings, I must digest and have.

It is about the way he looks at me Like he's in love or something, And all I want to do is stare right back, Because I'm not scared of anything. I ask him, If he is not either, To stare so ferociously, And he just says, maybe I'm in love or something. Then, like the man he is, He dumps the blame on me, Like he knew I was in love or something, With him since the moment I met him.

They say the attention span of a goldfish is around 9 seconds, And that of a human being is less than that because of digitization, And to make my point, My attention span is turning out to be lesser than that of a baby, who gets distracted and experiences multiple emotions in a matter of seconds — The point is, my attention span is worse than anyone else's because I keep forgetting that you are no longer the same person who said all the things back then. And, the situation n

Two songs, From different eras, From different languages, And from different stages of my life, Find me randomly today, And the only common link between them is you. It might be just a coincidence, A probability out of millions perhaps, That they happen to find me, And they happen to be used together in the show I started watching today, Out of the hundreds listed in my watch list, And that they would remind me of you, Maybe it's just a coincidence. Or it's just my fate, That

Your memories are like a jump scare, They creep out of nowhere, And think it's funny, When they jump all over my thoughts, As if they're on a trampoline. Often, I sit, Silently, in solemn situations, Wondering from where, Your memory is going to jump at me. Often, in these moments, I'm practically scared, A lot before the jump actually happens, Sometimes, I'm the one triggering them too. But, you see, It's like I've PTSD, From you, Or your memories (If you don't want to claim

I've reached a point now, Where I'm not bothered, With anything others are doing. And I'm done being compassionate, Towards you and your actions, Hurting just you, As you say, When you're unempathetic, To even see how they affect, The ones around you. Because, you know what, I've been through it, Through hell and back. Almost all alone, So don't provoke me, Because as much as I look kind and quiet, I'm roaring like a volcano, And I'm not allowing you, To disrespect me the way

Honestly, it's been a daze lately, Between giving up, And not wanting to give up, On myself, Because only I'm left now, And I'm tired, Of fighting this fight, So, I'm laying down, All my weapons, And slowly crawling back, Until I reach somewhere, Where I don't have to fight anymore, With anyone or myself, And everything starts to feel okay, Maybe even better than that.

It's possesive possession, Of a person's character, That I noted, created, gifted, Out of random readings and observations, Of paragraphs and sentences, Describing nuances particularly mentioned, To make anyone fall in love. How could I have not? / Why did I?

Pal bhar ke liye bhi agar, Tum chale gaye khayal se, Toh pal bhar ke liye hi sahi, Tumhe bhoole toh the hum. Pal bhar ke baad agar, Fir se aa gaye khayal mein, Toh pal bhar ke liye hi sahi, Hume yaad toh aaye the tum. Pal bhar mein bhi agar, Mohabbat hi hai khayal mein, Toh pal bhar ke liye hi sahi, Mohabbat mein toh the hum. Song Recommendation: Tum Saath Ho

They don't teach you this in schools, How you'll find your passion, In between subject lessons that you like and ignore, And how one day, in your twenties, You slowly start to dislike it, Because you're not doing it anymore for the love of it, You're doing it for the sake of it. They don't teach you this in schools, That passion should only be kept for your heart, And not every passion makes a good profession, And then, one day, in your twenties, You realize this and wonder,

Maybe it never really goes away, That feeling when you feel alone in a crowd, And look for that one face, Even when you're trying not to find them, Have small conversations, And think of all the small ones you've ever had, And then when the small talk mentions something niche, You are back to the same conversation you're trying to forget, Maybe that feeling of losing someone never goes away, It just stays there in crowded places and empty hearts, In small talks with new peopl

I don't like to play games, Specially card games. Maybe because I don't like to hide anything, And keeping the cards to myself, Feels like I'm keeping a part of me from you, And I want to be keep my cards, Face up on the table, Without bluffing my way, To know your cards. Maybe because I want to help you, With your cards even if I have better ones than you, And I'll do anything to see that confidence in your eyes, That says you're winning, And I've got good cards too, So what

What is there to do here, When these four walls aren't even home, Why am I stuck here then, Where I don't even want to stay anymore, Who am I here I don't even know, How am I going to find my home?

One step forward, One step back, I keep going forward, Then I keep coming back. To the same old conversations, That happened yet didn't, To the same new people, That I met but didn't. One step forward, Then one step back, I keep dancing this dance, Where the beats don't match.

I'm tired of trying, When I know it's not going anywhere, The efforts, The conversations, The same old patterns, All over again, Because it's not worth it, Nothing is, these days. Why should it even be, When I'm declining to mold, In your forms, At your time, Without being heard, All over again, Because it's not worth it? Nothing is, these days.

The thoughts have started to keep me awake, Longer than I desire, Then hold me captive in the morning, To get away from them. How I wish, I had things, Better than now, To tell the world, And not just have a scrap book, Full of empty pages, And scribbles just to fill it somehow. So, I am trying to step up and out, Of my comfort zone, Hoping that the universe plays a little part too, To help me through, This borderline darkness.

This is for everyone whose heart is hurting and healing — I'm sorry that you're hurting. I'm sorry that someone intentionally or unintentionally hurt you with their actions or words. And, oftentimes, you blame yourself that you saw this coming and you still couldn't protect yourself. You blame yourself for your sensitivity and vulnerability. You try to protect yourself from getting hurt by not opening up and not sharing your feelings but that only makes you sadder. There are

I must have gone through, A hundred emotions sitting there, In a sacred space as they say, Where answers can be found, But all I had complaints. And requests in some way, Without any answers, And only hope to hold on, Pushing the sadness away, And putting a fake smile on. Listening to others, By quieting my thoughts down, Where is everything going to lead us, Despite losing my heart and mind now, What's going to happen and how?

I was quiet, Because all my words, Were revolting, For and against the heart, And when they spoke, The only language they knew was, Of protection, As they stand like soldiers, Aiding and abiding, The realm of passion, From now on, Until further notice.

With giving you a piece of my heart, I never thought you would break it apart, When I thought we were getting close, It was you who thought we were growing apart. Then when strangers even realise, That I deserve at least an explanation, There you are straying, Far even for a conversation. It speaks to me great volumes now, How much importance I gave you, And how you took it all for granted, Because I cannot give you another to go through.