Better Than Fiction.

image

There was once a time when I would happily wear one of the above t-shirts, firmly believing in the truth the words imprinted on it held.

That time was before you.

I now wonder, why was I so much in love with fictional males?

I do have the answer for that, by the way.

They were one quality, described so beautifully that they seemed impossible to have. And since when have we not wanted something we can’t have?

The authors are also talented enough to make a particular Mr. Douchebag sound appealing to the female masses through rare redemptions, often supplied with unforgettable metaphors which build up on his “broken angel” aura and make his douchebag aura seem acceptable. Swoon-worthy even. Or they’d go for a more sensitive chap, you know, the warm, tragically friend-zoned, quotes and poetry hoarding kind, with spectacular brown hair.

Yes, that was the dream, until you came bumbling along.

You were everything I never knew I needed. Sure, you don’t give the kind of replies I expect when I type something deep. You get away with a “hmmm” while I would rage at anyone else who’d use the word as generously as you do (I haven’t known a bigger conversation turn-off than that word, seriously). Your flirting skills embarrass me, sometimes. You commit cringeworthy grammatical errors and poetry has never been relevant to you.

But, you make me very happy.

You make me happy through the cheesy pick-up lines you use to counter something cute I just said. You make happy when you listen to everything I say and patiently wait, knowing there’s more. You make me happy through the fact that you care about what happened in my day. You make me happy because you stay when I ask you to leave, because you know this is going to pass. You make me happy because you believe me when I say I love you and be a perfect little tease before saying it back with full fervour.

You have made my life a perpetual carnival and I can’t remember ever being more excited to get on a ride, and live.

More than anything, however, you make me feel radiant when I see you and am reassured that you are more than a piece of fiction built up from the remains of my forlorn heart.

You are real and better than fiction; and you should know, love, that’s huge coming from a manic bibliophile like yours truly.

-Kimaya Ingale.

Throwback Thursday.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: It has been unacceptably too long. I apologize to anyone who has been waiting for an update (if anyone is, as a matter of fact). There will be another post following this one tomorrow. I promise. Thanks for reading, loves. ūüôā 


That will be a tale to tell the kids.

Us. Two young, reckless lovers. Running around in school, long after it was over. Being lame enough to plan our first kiss, right down to The Spot where we would have it. So lame.

Anyway, as luck would have it, all the spots we earlier deemed ‘safe’ were now teeming with danger, one after the other. Finally, we found The Spot. You grabbed my hand and we ran up the staircase.

After weeks of hidden feelings on the verge of bursting out, we hugged. And I disintegrated. Too soon, we let go. However, only to kiss (finally kiss) and experience the bliss that first kisses promise.

But let me tell you something, darling. When we kissed, I didn’t experience Heaven. Or “pure bliss”. None of that stuff. I only experienced you.

And you should know, it was better than any Heaven I’ve heard of.

-Kimaya Ingale.
 

Gorgeous Devil.

There he stood. Laughing with his friends, eyes crinkled at the edges, teeth bared and nose upturned.

What a cutie.” said my mind with an all too familiar tone.

My gaze must have been palpable, for he turned and caught my eye.

Time. Frozen.

I stared back, though, appraising him. Call it the perk of being a Gemini, but I recognized him for what he was, instantly.

A gorgeous devil.

I may not be much of an expert on satanology, but I would fight tooth and nail with those who say devils just as grotesque, horned little blighters. Clearly, they hadn’t seen the finest of them, who was standing in front of me. Tall, smart, hair set perfectly, that tiny little mole near his nose on the left of his face. Perfection.

Our eyes cut off. He took one more step near me, that lopsided smirk already plastered on his face.

Oh, the gorgeous little devil…

But if he was thinking that he’d lasso me into his abode with that irresistible “hello”, he was in for disappointment.

Because darling, I’ve played with Hell all my life.

-Kimaya Ingale.

Every Other Girl In The World.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi, y’all! Okay, I apologise if the posts are becoming way too soppy and similar for you! There’s a kind of (please take note of it when I say ‘kind of’) funny post coming up next! Love y’all for reading and comments are always appreciated (indirectly begging you for your feed back) ūüėÄ x


tumblr_mdc7n5wCIE1rkyz59o1_500

“Whilst you said 

 You were off

Chasing my demons,

Little did I know,

You were chasing

Them onto me.”

Life before you was simple. I was happy dreaming of dreamy utopias with me as their reigning queen. I had the stars within my grasp and I could paint with colours non-existent. I used to marvel at them. They spoke words to me and I spoke back to them through my loving strokes. The world was my canvas interminatis.

But you rudely barged in. You were a gatecrasher in my party at first. Oh, and how quickly I learnt that you were the life of it.

Darling, you shattered the precarious foundation of my pretentious but joyful world. Never had I felt so naked, cold and vulnerable, but you were the fire toasting me.

However, what they say is true. Old habits die hard. I was still an inkling of my older self. Still off chasing after fairies and imps. I wanted my fairy tale.

Knowing me as you did, you built me up on my fantasies. I believed you. Your kisses told me I was privileged. Your loving gestures were those befitting royalty. Your pretty lies rendered masterpieces in my mind worth residing at the Louvre.

Yes, I admit I was stupid. That hurt, you know, knowing that you were the one making me feel that way. The man who once made me feel like the Queen of the world, his world, now looks down at me from his throne. A satisfied smirk on his face.

Story of every other girl, eh?

But that’s what hurt the most, sweetheart.

You made me feel like every other girl in the world. 

Dead-Girl Walking.

You finally did it, didn’t you?

Maybe I had foreseen its coming. But your ‘I love you s’ mollified my fears. Coming in at the right time and hitting the right chord.

I confused them as a result of the love and affection you held for me. Love, huh? What was I thinking, gosh. You probably said them to save me for the pain that would be coming later. Built me up, raised me like a lamb for slaughter.

I tell you, my darling, it is far worse than what I envisaged. Sure, there were those customary sleepless nights. A bit of crying here and there, too.

But you shook me to my very foundations the day you left. The girl who was once confident about everything in her stride now doubts her every thought.

I look at myself in the looking-glass and all I want to do is claw off my skin. Free myself from the traces of your soft whispers against my goose-fleshed skin, your mouth against mine, the unparalleled pleasure your every touch warranted.

Darling, I was living antitheses with you.

 Shaky yet unwavering. Scared yet fearless. Calm yet a thunder-storm brewing in my chest.

¬†Yeah, that’s how you made me feel. Yes, I had given you an inkling about my feelings, but they never did any justice to the real deal.

However, I thought you’d leave me only when there was no other choice. That otherwise, you’d leave me on my cloud nine feeling full of love.

But you were the one who pushed me off it. Love, you left me an empty shell, with eyes dead to the world and all, not even a ghost of the girl I used to be.

You’ve made me like the dead-girl walking you’ve always feared.

-Kimaya Ingale.

The Ambiguity Of A ‘Forever’.

“So is this your kind of ‘forever’?

Where leaving me comes at the end

Of each of your promises,

That just don’t seem to be.”

¬†“Forever.” she whispered under the rainbow of the colours of the dying sun.
“Forever.” I whispered in her ear; that sweet cologne of hers awakening me, as if all my life, up to this moment, was a dream.

 But now when I wake up, the left side of the bed with her sequined unicorn pillow remains empty.

Empty like the promises she promised to keep.

Empty like my broken, obliterated heart.

Destroyed.

You see, you never know what is the period of ‘forever’ considered by the other person. You never know when it is time up.

Never know when the hourglass runs out of sand.

Never know what¬†their ‘terms and conditions applied’ are.

And you never know how, why and when it ends.

It might end right after that moment has passed. It might end when you are too late.

When just for that once when it mattered, it were not your arms that held your crying girl in the street.

But what I do know now is that my belief in ‘living in the moment’ has been reinstated. Because forever is, but an ambiguity.

“So stop waiting for when your ‘forever’ is going to come around. Waiting for that sly little sucker might just cause you to miss the moments that count.”

-Kimaya Ingale.

Afflatus, O Mine.

tumblr-love-8
Alright.
He wasn’t a mess. He wasn’t the boy from the books that I was going to save, from himself. He wasn’t your stereotypical enigma, whose detective was going to be I.
He was a normal one.
Although, I wasn’t. Not since the The Last Bad Experience With Love. With him, my normality was back. I didn’t even want to be something¬†more¬†than normal. He was all I needed.
However, it is two of the most quotidian existences that combine to be the brightest orb on this blue sphere.
We were magic, him and I. The calm after the storm, the eldorado of everyone’s yearning.
People looked at us and their awe was palpable. It reached me, through their longing gazes and made me hold on even tighter.
This fire between us, this fiery goodness burned that icy-cold Tundra in my self, my heart; melted me like sugar on tongue, every time my dark-brown irises leveled with his chocolate brown ones. His arms were like the warm sands of the Sahara, albeit cold whenever I left them; for his ‘starlight’ was I, as he often asserted.
But most of all, he made me catch that sly, old shadow of mine. He built me up, with every light caress of his fingers, like a Lego house.

Piece by piece by piece…

Touch by touch by touch…

Until one day, our first hug finally acted as the sealing concrete of my construction.
I was complete, wholly and with the renewed ability to love and to be loved.
And every night now, when I fall asleep under the stars, these words play over and over in my mind-

“Where art thou from

Afflatus, O mine?

For in this world,

A Sisyphean task it is,

To find a heart 

As gold as thine…”

-Kimaya Ingale.