Kaya

Chapter 9- Life and death

I have always been this weirdly unsettling chick. There was not really a place where I'd completely fit in. I have tried and tried really hard at that, to be one of them. To find a haven, you know. I had always convinced myself that Yash was that missing place for me. I wasn't entirely wrong because believe me, he has understood me in ways most of the people around me couldn't. But he was a good vacation, that's all. I am still searching for a home.

I look for it in my vodka (I've never poured myself a drink when I'm alone, it's always been the bottle and my lips. I'll probably die of an ulcer or something.), my cigarettes, my joints (new addition to a desperate attempt to escape reality, yay!) and sometimes in simpler things like the neon lights in my room. Maybe I'll find it in candlelights.

Being an artist, music constitutes a lot of comfort for me but it's such a high, it deserves to be called my heaven, not home.

So I am still on this seemingly never ending journey, where I keep making bad decisions, falling for people I can't have and killing myself for those who don't give a fuck.

I always call them first, you know.

The brothers, the sisters, the friends, the boyfriend.

I am always the one who ends up texting or dialling them because I miss them, how needy am I?

I should be an introvert right?

I play a damned harmonica and I compose music with it and the guitar.

But I savour phone calls and random text messages.

I think deep down, all of us do.

But why do I always break, why can't I come to peace with my solitude? Why can't I just be contended without people around me, I try so hard to make them understand anyway.

I miss him tonight, you know. So badly, so desperately. I just want his arms around me, I just want to feel like I have someone by my side...I wish I could be that person for me.

I have made a million mistakes, I wear my heart on my goddamn sleeve and I give it to the wrongest of people. I recover too, and that's why they say I've never found the one.

But I? I know me. I have loved. In my own naive ways, I have tripped on each of my lover's spirits and I have fallen for them as hard as I've wanted to. I make no apologies, I have no regrets.

When I was in 7th grade, I thought a wedding was love. So I imagined myself being married to my crush. When I was in 10th grade, I had a humungous crush on a guy five years elder to me, post my first break up.

I loved them both in my immature ways and I left them back in time.

The problem, I think, begins when people end up judging you; thinking you're a fool who doesn't know how to love.

Maybe they're right.

But I know that in reality, I simply don't carry it forward.

I have seen so many suffer, I know it gets toxic. I forget so much of my life, and that's how we come back to the beginning: sometimes I don't even feel like a whole person.

That's why I write and compose, I think, to have something to call mine.

I do miss him though.

Enough philosophical bullshit for a sober night I think. I'll grab a Chivas Regal tonight, I am rich for now.

Pradhyum cleared his throat and walked straight towards his typewriter. Some nights, there was so much flowing in his veins he had to write.