What She Is.

I. She’s a lover.
She has a heart, a mind and a soul. 

She says her mind dictates her, but does she not remember how she lost her mind when in love with him, the one that came before you?

She had a soul that was different, which he shattered when he left. 

She had a heart which he kept hanging over a ravine, knowingly or unknowingly. 

She had a heart so powerful that it shut her mind’s incessant insecurities up. 

She had a heart so powerful that it crumbled her soul’s wild desire to be set free, from his tyranny. 

She had a heart so silly, it did things under love’s name that didn’t belong there.

She gave him all of her big heart in hopes that he’d find a place in it to stay, absolutely anywhere that he felt home. 

He took every key and fleed, 

So that she couldn’t lock the doors 

And he could walk in and out,

As he pleased. 

She had a heart, that was in love and collapsing upon itself.

Fool or faithful, you decide. 

II. She had friends who pointed out her folly to her. 

She was magic, you see, for she created time for him that could only be spent on him, when he wished to. 

She had friends who reminded of the words- “time and tide wait for no man” and in her case, they shouldn’t even.

She protested. 

She accepted. 

She lost.

She won.

Broken or mended, you decide. 

III. She berated herself for being so unseeing.

She forgave herself for not listening to her mind’s and soul’s cries that sung-c a u t i o n.

She was healing her own heart. 

She swore that she’d call it ‘love’ only when her Holy Trinity (heart, mind and soul) proclaimed a heart the Vatican. 

She swore that she’d call it ‘love’ only when such shitty analogies about love and a God she didn’t even believe in were the only things that would help her make sense of the situation. 

IV. She met you. 

She was afraid because it took a week of speaking to you and she knew she was going to be in love, all over again. 

She learnt your tragedies and your victories. 

She knew she was there when she felt her heart tug every time you called something of yours a “flaw”. 

She knew she was there when her heart reached and claimed its throne atop vulnerability. 

She gave love another shot because she was a lover. 

‘Why why why’ or ‘WOOHOO!’, you decide. 

V. She fell in love.

She found love.

She is keeping love, for the first time. 

She can never thank you enough for burning away traces of him. 

She can feel you ripping away the dictionary of love that clung to herself, ripping away one page at a time. 

She can never thank you enough because she realizes it with you that her definitions were co-authored by the wrong person.

She can feel you writing new ones that exist in annoying moons, horrible pick up lines, reassurances when she asks for them. 

She has never been in love so much and not been broken. 

She hopes to not be a bother to you, ever. 

She doesn’t want to be anything that causes you to leave, at least not this soon. 

She wants to be what makes you stay and keep loving her. 

She ardently hopes you care enough to find these hidden words. 

She hopes that you care enough to read between the lines and ask her for a map leading to them. 

Lastly, she hopes that you will love not only the title that she has written these words under, but what she was and will be. 

Because she will stop at nothing to give you the world, for she’s in love.

-Kimaya Ingale. 


When I Care Too Much.


     Are we that close yet, has enough time passed between us that I can tell you that I miss you, after not talking to you for just even an hour? 

 Are we that good friends yet, are our electric minds, fiery souls and sombre hearts that settled down that I can tell you that you mean more than just a fraction of what I call ‘everything’ to me? 

 Are we that invested into each other, have enough stories been passed around for me to start writing one with, for and about you? 

Are we a ‘we’ only for the week and not during the weak? 

And lastly, are we good enough for me to know that there’ll be answers to all of these questions, hopefully with you by my side?

~When I Care Too Much.

-Kimaya Ingale.

What Kind Are You Talking About?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: And it’s here! The special 100. I now have 100 people who give a damn about what I write. ๐Ÿ˜€ Gee, thanks, I love you guys, it means a lot. ๐Ÿ™‚


What kind are you talking about?

The one that cares for the ‘I‘ in it or just insidiously destroys it?


What kind are you talking about?

The ones that understand us till the second ‘E‘ or the ones that leave somewhere near the ‘O‘?


What kind are you talking about?

The one which most people pretend to experience for the sake of not offending anyone or the  one which stays long enough to keep you sane when the bad days take over?


What kind are you talking about?

The ones that stay till the ‘E N D’ or the ones that find someone else between the ‘R‘ and the ‘I‘?


What kind are you talking about?

The one that means its ‘ for eternity ‘ business or the one which sees no wrong in unexpectedly changing the ‘F O R‘ for an ‘N‘?


What kind are you talking about?

The ones that waltz unfazed with our demons or the ones that just care about showing off their wings?

I  L O V E  Y O U

What kind are you talking about?

The one which is meant for the whole package or the one which is meant only for the pretty parts?

-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. ๐Ÿ™‚ 

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.

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) ๐Ÿ˜€ x


“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. 

Puppy Love.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I was totally in the mood for some cliched, light and refreshing write up. And oh, this is quite personal to me as I’ve written this for a friend. Hope you like it! ๐Ÿ™‚ 

She was a goner.

The warnings reached her too late; he was already her waking thought. His attention was as important to her as sunshine to a sunflower.

But she was a sunflower growing on the edge of a town often battered by storms. With the sunshine more often present than absent, the nightmares of life without him plagued her.

She talked to her friends about it. However, their advice was superficial. They asked her to ‘maintain a distance’ but how could she maintain a distance from her own heart? 

Now, the love songs she so endlessly hummed had finally a subject to refer to. Her 11:11 wishes were not wasted on him, though. She spent them on herself, to pray that she would not have to go through the horrors of a heart break. She was sure that she wouldn’t make it.

However, like all love stories go, the twist was ever present in this one, too. Whilst she raged and stormed about how he didn’t care, little did she know that behind his aloof behaviour, behind that agonizingly “masculine” armor was a young boy who’d finally found someone who helped him experience the “thousand butterflies in my stomach” he had often heard of.

-Kimaya Ingale.

Aesthetic: The Unsettled.


Some days, he’ll adopt that irresistible boy-next-door charm.

Others, he’ll be a brooding puzzle.

And the next day, he will be the school clown, laughing, making others laugh.

Just when you are about to label him as one of the stereotypes, his metamorphosis into its opposite will startle you. Don’t worry, he’s not schizophrenic. He’s not bi-polar either. He just won’t live under a label. Just as you thought he was settling for being a jock, his extraordinarily nerdy attitude will surprise you.

“Why?! Why not be one of the Populars?” -you might cry.

“Because being like the plot of an Agatha Christie book is better than taking up roots in a sobriquet and living the remainder of your life, TRYING to live up to it.” -would be his reply.

And that’s how you know folks, he’s like one of those fire rainbows. Very recherchรฉ. Striking. Bold. Worth remembering.

Don’t let the society place its label on you. Embrace your unpredictability and quirks. Be ensconced in them. Make them your protective shell against society. And remember, never settle.”

-Kimaya Ingale.