remembering

remember me

in the haze of this winter evening.

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no sunset blues

 

Falta, by the River Ganga. South 24 Parganas, West Bengal.

 

—so many things must have been said about sunset evenings as background framings.

so much—enough to fill the 12,000 electronic cemeteries where we bury our feelings.

But tonight is different:

because I’m walking away,

and not with death pervading my senses

but to my own personal port of familiar sadness—

My sadness is not blue,

it’s gold nail polish with red lipstick,

black coffee and LED screens

—my own silent island of disenchanted daydreams.

Never Mind.

So here we are again,

the same place, once again,

same conversations, same little confessions,

the same little cabin and cocktails,

collecting seashells for unmade necklaces,

white shirts over floral prints

over red lipstick

over transparent nail varnish

over oyster dinners and supermarket arguments.

The same spot under the same lighthouse:

red paint like our toenails and white like the shells placed in a line upon your back.

still investigating pearls under the bright sun:

golden sand stretched into the

crashing white waves into the

swaying blue surface into the

distant sunset;

year after year: one tight circle of security.

And then,

over the sound of roaring water

I heard you say you had fallen out of love with me.

 

Growing up.

It’s just that: you suddenly find yourself wandering into the lives of others, not knowing what to expect, then one day you’re suddenly wandering out. Growing up teaches you to know when your time has come to leave.

I think growing up means understanding when your turn is over and graciously leaving the space for others without throwing a tantrum of self-entitlement.

Growing up made me understand not to look for “meaning” in the world. 

The world has no meaning on its own, don’t blame the world for your miseries. Meaning is what you make of it, what you bring to the table, what you contribute in another person’s life. Meaning is planting a tree so a few people can breathe easy, meaning is screwing a tap tight so that water doesn’t leak, meaning is leaving your smartphone behind and sitting on the grass to laugh with friends who care.

And meaning is also letting go of those friends when its time.

Growing up is realising that new places become old and old places can be experienced anew.

Growing up doesn’t have to be hard, it doesn’t have to punishing, you’ve to simply learn to let go and absorb again. Growing up is flexibility. 

Let fucking go.

Grow up.

Liberté

You are a Bird, freedom is your name
and you were born to fly.
Chaining you down will dwindle
the ethereal beauty that is yours.
Caging you will erase your charm.

As hard as it may be,
I will let you go, let you soar,
fly away, out into the open sky.

Dill your delicate lungs with laughter,
the freshness of then new dawn;
Sing out in your sweet melody
Sing till the cup of your heart,
brims with eternal bliss.

Spread out, spread out your rainbow wings
and colour the monotonous sky with
your myriad variety.

Let me watch you fly,
Look! the Sky is awaiting your flight,
Her arms are open to take you in
Freedom. Finality. Eternity and Hope.
Everlasting.
Only,
Remember to fly, Bird, dearest,
for you, were born to.