Fallen Un-phased.

​She wants to be like the moon, she tells me. For the 100th time, 25th time in the same place.

We are in my backyard that we toy our minds into believing is a makeshift meadow. The willow tree prevents the moonlight being too harsh on us, while the Zen fountain- which I want to state I installed all by myself- make gentle, gurgling water sounds.

But tonight feels different because I know that after asking her why, I will have an answer following after the shrug of her shoulders.

Maybe it’s because it shows you what you can be, despite your deepest fears, I tell her. 

She rests up her elbow and looks at me  decidedly with more interest. I don’t think I’ve exactly noticed how lovely her hair is. I suddenly want to play with it and I do. 

She giggles and tugs lightly at it, bringing me back. 

Tonight is different. 

She tells me she wants to hear more. 

I say- Maybe you want to be like the moon because it reminds you what you can be inspite of your darkest corners. On the days when you feel like there’s no light within you, you recoil away from everything because you don’t want to spread your darkness around. 

Because you don’t realize that you’re something that cuts through mine and so many others, I add as a quiet afterthought. 

Something shifts in her brown eyes. The same shade as mine and the reason why I got over the thought of them being too boring, because they looked beautiful on her. I figured, how could something with such immense power of beauty be anything other than it? 

I think I have fallen. 

She tugs again at her hair. 

I am composed as I speak- The moon, it doesn’t have its own light. So, it takes what it receives from the sun and shines. It shines, and thinks it’s more than okay to get by and light up others’ life with a little help from those you love and love you. Even if there’s a new moon and the sun’s light fails to touch it, it doesn’t give up and hesitate to trust and receive when the cycle changes. It trusts and hence, shines, again. 

Darling, not everyone’s here to hurt you. That’s what the moon’s trying to tell you. That’s how it wants to cut through your darkness- your fear of trusting people and taking from them; by grace, through faith, I finish. 

Her smile dazzles. She hugs me tight. 

Us, two girls moonlight bathing. 

From that moment onwards, I find myself changed. 

I vow to myself that I’ll be her sun.

For, seeing her shine is unearthly and I believe she belongs with the stars. 

I know I have fallen.

-Kimaya Ingale.

When I Care Too Much.

​Hi,

     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.

Kindred Spirit.

​K. 

A kryptonite. A weakness, for my mind. My mind being a glass of milk. And you being a piece of the best cookie around. We fit.

I.

One syllable. One word. One letter. 

Between two verticals and a horizontal, the stories that matter, begin. “I” is not that bad after all. It’s the beginning of things wonderful. 

N. 

News being recounted. Old or new, it doesn’t matter. It’s more than heard. It’s more than understood. It simply makes sense. The time doesn’t count.

D.

Drifting around like bodies in space. No idea where and how, but the universe has a plan for us. We collide and it’s stellar. It’s a whole new world of friendship. 

R.

Rarity displays itself and once again, I’m reminded why it’s so beautiful. Like the best birthday gift that has been planned to be given to you, all your life. And when you get it, it’s everything at once. 

E.

Ethereal is what I see this little situation of ours as. But should our friendship not make it, I wouldn’t take a piece of it back. Rather be touched by something so beguiling than not having a trace of it imprinted on my spirit, ever. 

D.

Damn, I just got to be in on one of the best types of earthly magic, didn’t I? 

Because of you, my friend.

Because of you, kindred spirit.

-Kimaya Ingale.

Heart, Soul And Mind- I’m Yours, Friend.

​In trust which doesn’t need to be specifically identified and be spoken for. In support which exists even without words and actions.In belief which doesn’t need facts to be proven.In faith which sees no auspicious dates or time. In safety which has no chains, doors or locks. In warmth where no man has a hand tending a fire. In time where hours, minutes and seconds escape in a whirlwind of laughter and giggles. In belongingness where similarity isn’t the only factor that bonds. In forgiveness where guilt exists only in that form which makes you want to be better. In respect which has no merits or laurels or age qualifying it. In admiration which goes beyond a pretty face, a beautiful voice, a crooked smile, a faded scar; which goes right down to the soul. In ordinary yesterdays, the memories of which are saved for a rainy day. In ordinary todays where a smile doesn’t need a reason to be formed. In ordinary tomorrows where no amazing plan is needed for the day to be looked forward to.

In love I found this. In magic I found my best friend.

And you ask why I choose them above everything?

-Kimaya Ingale.

When I Look Up At You.

​What is it?

Happiness, its very embodiment, brought on by a ‘hello’. By a smile, which to all but one is a missed heartbeat and warmth, all at once. 

What is it? 

Safety- in your arms, hands, eyes, mind and heart- the places you hold me. There’s nowhere better than I can think of to rest my mind, stop guarding and just let go.

What is it? 

Trust. Hundreds and hundreds of secrets full of it. And to say I can do it without a second thought, well, that’s what does it for me.

What is it? 

Forgiveness; when you love my mistakes more than my pretty face. My errors and faults that you forgive, they make me a better person to love. Thank you, for shaping me.

What is it? 

Love. Glowing through the soul, the darkest nights. Grateful I am to me for not giving up on it after the last heartbreak. 

Because sweetheart, giving up on love would’ve meant giving up on forgiveness, trust, safety, happiness. 

It would’ve meant giving up on you.

-Kimaya Ingale.

‘R’ For Reality, Romance And You.

Dear R,

             Everybody knows what you mean to me. Well, I guess everybody but us. 

You’re like the perfect poetry I couldn’t have ever written. The words that dictionaries fail to make me understand. You’re still incomprehensible to me, even though we hate the same animals, both the talking ones and the others. You’re the blurry detail in a photograph, which, instead of making me ignore it, leaves me wanting more.

R, you’re all of that and more.

You’re the one who brought the light with you to ease me into the startling chaos of my reality. I ran from reality as long as I can remember, just because I was a coward; I couldn’t see my mistakes and I ignored the ones which I was shown, because it was just so much easier.

Life before you was easier. Later, I realised, living with you, what “life” was all about.

R, what sets you apart is that you’re asymptotic. Your smile is a curve that few would see as not intersecting the line of pretence. People who pushed you over saw what could be seen easily and took off. I don’t know what made me stay, but I know it has got a lot to do with giggles and long conversations and not having the need of trying to “fit in”.

It has a lot to do with being each other’s cheerleaders and staying that way.

Eh, I know you’ve read hundreds of these appreciation posts. And that irks me, because words aren’t enough to let the world know what you, this tiny 5 foot being is made of.

For the first time, I wish for something more, something more concrete and absolute than my words to romance you. I could say a thousand ‘I love yous’ and yet, my heart would argue saying that this isn’t just love.

You’re magic, R. Whatever anybody says about you, I don’t listen. When somebody acts like they know you, I laugh because I know they don’t. 

What they see is a small child, in need of love and protection. They don’t see the same child guarding the heart of a 5’4″ something nerd. They don’t see her being the sole reason of someone’s smile on a rough day, because that’s how she is. 

I just don’t love you because I know all that you’ve done for me. I love you for all that you unknowingly did and made me smile.

This letter is nothing but me rambling and yet again, failing to capture your beauty and showcasing it to  the world. 

Maybe, I have begun to understand, that not all art is meant to be captured and showcased. And you, my darling, are certainly one heck of a masterpiece.

Yours,

K.

–Kimaya Ingale.

Interstellar.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hey, I have missed you guys. A lot. Some important exams of mine, that I’ve been preparing for this past year, are less than two months away. Agh. And sometimes, when I’m supposed to study, I write cheesy song lyrics. But because I can’t sing, they remain poetry. I don’t know, I want you all to read them as song lyrics, to your own tune if you can manage it and let me know how you like it. Now, if only I could play guitar and sing like Taylor. 

---

Interstellar.

There’s something
In the way,
You look at me, baby

Even when you know,
It’s time to let go.

But, baby, I need you to stay,
I need you to listen,

Chorus:

Listen to the universe conspiring
Against us,
It’s angry, planets collide,
Galaxies burst,

Baby, you should stay,
‘Cause we’re better
Something interstellar.

There’s something in the way,
You hold my hand,
Like you know it’s the last day

Even though, you know
You promised to never let go.

But baby, I need you to stay,
I need you to listen,

Chorus:

Listen to the way the stars war,
When we’re together, just
To burn brighter than us

Listen to the universe conspiring
Against us,
It’s angry, planets collide,
Galaxies burst,

Baby, you should stay,
‘Cause we’re better than
Something interstellar.

Oh baby,
There’s something in the way,
I ask you to stay,
And you look like you may..

Chorus:

Listen to the universe conspiring
Against us,
It’s angry, planets collide,
Galaxies burst,

Baby, you should stay,
‘Cause we’re better than
Something interstellar.

You and I, interstellar.

-Kimaya Ingale.

Cymbals and Cynics.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: “Don’t give it up, just stay grand for one more minute.” -Troye Sivan.

---

Cymbals and Cynics.

I love you
And it scares me;
For you,
You only hear
Three little words
And are not burnt
By the inferno
Raging within.

The cynics-
They hear it, too,
And take the stage
Every time,
Threatening to reduce
The pounding cymbals
Of my love
To an acoustic minimal.

-Kimaya Ingale.

Better Than Fiction.

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. 🙂 

---

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.