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Passing lives....
The moon was full, so bright, illuminated the dark sky, outshining all the street lamps and city lights.
The necklace of buildings, strung together , with windows of precious stones, from inside,shining yellow and white.
Forevermore, were there cars  filling the lanes, like a colony of ants, rushing and speeding into their respective homes,
But every single one of them different , in shape , size, structure or color, to each one their own.
As i sat inside , watching from the back seat of my fathers black SUV, i wondered, as i saw,
in a white pick up truck,was a wife smiling at her husband, and him gesturing happily, oblivious to each other  none of their flaws.
To their new home they must have gone, to their waiting children, so perfect,a happy loving family all they ever wanted.
As my car inched up a little to the front, a sleek ,shiny car passed up front, in which a couple sat, their looks so haunted.
Facing away from each other, they in solemn silence, expression grave, emitting a negative vibe,
They had it all the money, the riches, the house, even each other, but some time to spare, they had none by side,
Thus it lead to problems, several, and for all they know ,the other was nât even normal,regret staining their decisions,
As we inched up even further, the grey metal of taxi shone into view, with a lonely cab driver, Â on that day, his last mission,
Too tired, uniform crumpled, he left out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair, wondering of the things to come,
To go home, rest for the night, eat the last piece of his weekly stale bread,make the weekly call to his home,
To his wife ,tell her he missed every night and day, to his unborn child all his love, and his sick mother, that he would  be back soon.
And as my father pushed down the accelerator, i glimpsed the last car in row, parents and the two children staring at the moon.
As the father explained the science of the moon and planets to his elder son, the mother smiled ,seeing behind through the lens
at her little daughter scrunching her nose, trying to understand ,as complicated words of her beloved dada ,to her made no sense.
I looked into my car, since the speeding, blurred everything on the outside, my sister beside me,my parents in the front,
She in her own world of music , with earphones plugged, exactly like me,and my parents talking over the radio news, redundant.
In this big city, we all are somehow connected, by circumstance or choice.
But to each our own, every passing life.
-The views from my car window at night, and my imaginations of the other passing livesÂ
The problem with having low self esteem is that your perspective is so warped you could be really intelligent and youâd still think you were stupid. You could be so so beautiful and still look in the mirror and cringe. And itâs not even a consistent thing. Some days you wake up feeling really good about yourself and everything is okay but itâs such a fragile confidence thatâs so easily shattered. And it sucks because youâre always left unsure and stuck between this need for self-positivity and the notion of âbut I donât want to lie to myselfâ.
(via blossomfully)
That smell.
Oh, that smell,.That smell hit me with a wrecking ball of memories,of feelings and thoughts, rather than events,
That crisp smell, made me flush,my mind heavy with the work held before me, to be done, a bar  or a fence,
To my happiness, my freedom , devouring up my time that i spend awake,talking to her ,
anchoring me from falling into the dark pits  of depression,my worst it brings out, all my anger,
To later ,my regret, foolishly acting upon my wrath, brought the consequence of being adolescent,
they say i am nothing more than mood swings and mixed feelings,Not even thinking about how those words felt to me , or even meant.
The rush of emotions, both ying and yang, let me on , dreaming and hoping for a future, that would eventually
Never work out the way i half imagined to be, wringing myself and my heart out dry,seemingly
becoming a burden and distraught to others who bear me,those tiny specks of dust, and the smell that it carried
By the wind ,from turning the pages of never before opened book, Struck strongly , resonated within me, for to those late adolescent memories , it was married.
Oh that smell, .That smell of a newly opened book of text.
-The memories  of thoughts and feelings fleeting before my eyes, as i smelled the new 12th grade CBSE textbook, my sister opened to study.Mine had the same exact smell.Wonder how a simple smell can bring back so many memories.
I am that girl who smiles ,like the sun when he sees his beloved moon on the other side, one moment, and falls into depression, into the darkest ,most treacherous pits of her heart , the next.It can be confusing ,yes, but that is  how my mind works.
I am that girl. By Anjana.(March 31st,2015)
"Do you need love?"they asked."its the only thing that makes living life worthwhile"
Anonymous
Find the sort of friend who will be there for you, even when you are half way across the world, sitting in your dorm room, crying over someone you loved who broke your heart. Find the sort of friend who will stand up for you when someone says something cruel about you behind your back. Find the sort of friend with whom you can pick up with where you left of, even when you havenât spoken in years. Find the sort of friend who loves you, even when you are your worst self. The sort of person who you are proud to call a friend.
That Sort of Friend | Nikita Gill (via untamedunwanted)
Worth Living For {By Radha Kistler}
Tonight I saw the moon in all her glory glowing violently bright among the stars that appeared to be carefully hand placed into the sky- each in their carefully recognized place
with the wind in my hair and the night beckoning me upwards I felt as though I hadnât been alive in years
As though the earth was waiting in stasis
for this precise rotation to remind me whatâs worth living for.
Provocations and Reactions.
- You receive in all forms, from every where, Â from all angles.
- Its horrible to hear them , infuriates you ,and  the most tempting way to react is a lash back
- i know its difficult to control , i know its easier said than done trust me i know. but for the sake my sanity and your health please just please don't.
-Promise me next time it happens, for me just for me, stop that instant, count to ten, think of me , only me,, how much it would hurt if you lash out.
-Think of God Almighty, and be the greater man., forgive the third person for his misdoings.
-Be happy that you were able to perform this  and let go , and know that in your heart that i will always love you for this, the most ,
And i very well know you have self control and is very much in check with your feelings, way better than me in emotional strength, i know , i do , but you see, as you say, we all are, but very human.
-the things i really want him to listen to. Promises i want him to keep
Other than telling me everything, and going to bed happy and problem free.
Other Funny Gifs http://gif-guy.tumblr.com/
Elusiveness of peace.Solely mine.
There is hidden pain in my actions, my words.The heavens, my pillows, my walls know that iv'e tried to reign in all,
all of that anger, disappointment, frustration,and sadness, from leaking out of my bones.I hoped time would be my accomplice , in washing all of it away.
And i am still hoping, that everything would come to an end, disappear one day,.To find one solution to this is unreasonable,since all this was not built in a day.It was the years of mockery,betrayal,lack of empathy,criticism ,and just plain old negative vibes iv'e had to face all these years.Â
Then life happened.
I got to experience first hand , how negative and soul crushing the outside world can be. Iv'e learnt lessons,thoroughly,at that, mainly which our society as a whole has more wrongs than rights and cannot be trusted.Â
I take time getting close to people. i talk  but do not let them close nowadays, due to a list of my people, who called themselves my friends and tore open a missile on my poor little back.
Disappointments were ever present in my life ,as far as i could remember.My father used to raise my hopes up ,and dash them up ,without a single thought.My mom ,a constant critic ,always there to point out my flaws. My sister, during those days , my arch nemesis, now turned out , better than i expected. Growing up i realized my parents, were humans too, they too make mistakes, unlike the image they created in my head, the perfect know it all s.
What was i supposed to do .I try , i really do , to empathize with them , to understand them, actions that they never have tried, or tried and failed miserably.
Falling in love has made me an emotional wreck.I used to be able to take mockery on my face, bite down my tongue till it bled out all my anger from the insides.I used to be brave, knowing that it would make no difference if i existed or not.I could chew the insides of my cheek, and bruise my knuckles ,so that my tear ducts wouldn't function, because some other part of my body needed attention.
But now, i cry like, the entire water from the Niagra falls , were transferred into my tear duct, and they can't hold it any longer.I cry at least 5 times a week now.I cannot watch horror movies, or grisly violence, because, they come up as even worse images in front of my eyes, concocted by my subconscious brain ,into attacking me.I cannot hold in my anger for more than a minute, and I end up letting it out through my tongue, and regretting it the next instant.
I know my parents are trying hard , their best , to give me everything, i promise, i really do know.But why do i get so angry, let frustration,sometimes hate, in their direction.Why am i not grateful to whatever they have done for me.Why is , all that i think about , is the bad memories, and things that they v'e put me through. is it just me  or am i a bad person?
Is it because everywhere else i look , everyone has their perfect piece of life just like they have always wanted. I now i should never compare lives.so this stops now.
Oh, but i am not done with life.Barely started.
On giving bad memories from childhood that developed into complexes, which i now am trying very hard to get rid off, to just plain bullshit, I have tried ignoring all,for the sake of my sanity.
But for the last six months, life just wont give me a break. Just will not.As if it was another sadistic person, making me go through horrible things, never letting me forget it, and i think enjoying itself heavily on seeing me suffer.
These last 6 horrible months, life handed me a job, and out of my stupidity, the worst my of my life,took it away  from me, and thus leading to lose an opportunity to be with my best friend in her time of need.Then coming home alone, in pretense of a getting a job, was not allowed to go see my dying grandmother, until she passed away , after then letting me know there was no job on the first place.
All of them asks me about my current status, and all i can say is i am searching to find something to ground me, that i am still floating in the air like a lost balloon, swaying to the winds , with no purpose whatsoever.
Losing hope, is manageable, even understandable.I can deal with that. But losing my peace of mind, and letting everyone around be miserable and sad ,just because me, that is the definition of hell on earth.
By writing this piece, on my sanity , right now ,i do not want my bad vibes transferred to another,my only intention is to stop it within this.Â
Hoping Everyone, even the worst of humanity, to have peace within them.That would contribute to a solution to world peace.
Hopefully.
Moments
That feeling of emptiness that devours your insides, slowly but steadily, until you have nothing left to feel , think, or reason with. You just become a hollow shell, that once, housed a colorful, splash of wonder,curiosity,adventure,sparkles and glitter.
You have very reason to find joy, in all the nooks and the tiniest of crannies of our lives, which you now , usually tend to ignore. Those are momentary bursts of happiness, which stuck on to you, before,after the initial moment, But now it wears off as soon as the moment passes.You forget.
They say , we are our experiences, even the fleeting ones.But what happens, when we forgot them?.Big or small. What if we can not relive those moments of clarity , through our memories. Do they just disappear?Become extinct?.
Does it become a moment that is wasted?.Or does it have a subconscious way of interfering with our lives, through our subliminal selves.Is all that we do , perceive or react , pre-existent in us or somewhere else.
NEVER DATE A GIRL WHO WRITES
by
Nandhitha Hariharan
It could be in a quaint cafe, a breezy afternoon at the beach or right in the middle of nowhere. You will spot a girl with wrinkled clothes, loosely tied up hair and an air of indifference. She is oblivious to the fact that her coffee is getting cold as she furiously types away.
And if you ever meet such a girl, there is just one thing that I can tell you.
Run.
Never date a girl who writes.
Never date a girl who writes because she does not have the knack to spot the line that divides reality from fantasy. She exists in a state of rapture persistently trying to fathom which is what. Never date a girl who writes because she falls in love very easily. Â She is not in love with you as much as she is in love with the very idea of âfalling in loveâ.
She will love you with passion, let you inspire her and even write about you. Â She will kiss you in a way that it seems like it is right out of a third-rate best seller but write about you with such eloquence that it could as well be the next greatest literature.
As you lose yourself in this dream, donât let yourself forget that she knows best that every good story must come to an end.
Never date a girl who writes because she will always write about you, the good, the bad and the downright ugly. You will be her hero, her villain, her muse and you will wonder if you could mean so much to anyone else. Â She just cannot grasp emotions that have not been spoken in a voice familiar to her. And that voice, more often than not, is words.
Never date a girl who writes because she is not as resilient as her words. It will frustrate you because it seems like she is emotionally available only to her journal.
There may be layers of fear and insecurity hiding behind the shrewdest of her words. Sit her down and hold her close to you. She may tell you the stories behind her stories, but I cannot promise that the writer wonât take over mid-way!
Never date a girl who writes because her greatest gift and not weakness lies in how susceptible she is to the world around her. She is vulnerable and not weak because she has mastered the art of conquering through surrender. Â
She will intimidate you with blind trust, partly because she knows that you will never break her heart but mostly because she knows that there is nothing more inspiring than pain. Nothing and not even heartbreak can scare her as much as not finding her next story.
Never date a girl who writes because it just wonât be the same again when you date a girl who does not write. Â
She may never forget what you said but she is quick to forgive as good stories come from imperfections. You will miss her simplicity and the way just a book or a letter can become the most perfect gifts for her. Even a copy of a book she already owns is enough to make her smile.
Never date a girl who writes because they have this rare ability to make any other kind of commitment and devotion pale in comparison to theirs! Â
Date a Girl who writes. No one else can hold your hands, move you through the smallest of gestures and show you infinite possibilities that this lifetime could bring, just through words.
And if you think that your love can be the one thing that leaves her searching for words, then, definitely date a girl who writes! Â
He loved her so much He struggled to give her the world Never understanding She only desired his heart
But he was strong Like all good men should be Had locked it away Long before their paths crossed
Still, a balance was struck She would never see him cry He would never write her poems Still her heart made room
She often thinks of running But knows how passions fade In this world of flattered insincerity Good & honest has to stand for something.
Natasha Head #Tashtoo #poemaday #nationalpoetrymonth #poetry
- Buy lace underwear and model it around at home. Youâre a goddess, own it. - Realize the fact that if somebody canât see your virtues doesnât it mean you donât have them. - Pamper yourself. Fill the bathtub with hot water, throw in a bath bomb, jump in, play some music and enjoy. Exfoliate your skin, wash your hair, use a hair mask. Donât dare to leave the bathroom till youâve polished every single inch of your body. Try to polish your soul too. - Remember situations you faced in the past. Realize theyâre not a big deal anymore. That bad anxiety you had two months ago suddenly seem so small you might just want to laugh for being so silly, and now itâs over all those tears you cried are the most pointless thing ever. This will happen over and over again, so next time you face a problem remember in a year from now it will be insignificant. - Go for a walk on your own. Walk aimlessly without a finish line. Come back home when youâre tired, no need to hurry. - Doodle. Maybe you think youâre doing not so great at living but your watercolors skills are still on point. - Buy yourself flowers. This one needs no explanation. - Clean bed sheets are always a good idea. - Stare at yourself in a mirror after a long nap and admire how glowing, beautiful and dreamy your face looks. Naps work wonders. - In fact, stare at yourself on a mirror daily. Each time compliment on something. Maybe today you like your hair but donât enjoy the shape of your lips, but thatâs ok because tomorrow youâll be delighted at how cute your smile is even tho your hair might be a mess. Learn to love you. - Bake cookies just to eat with your fingers the remaining cookie dough. Everybody knows thatâs the best part of baking. - Forgive yourself.
Tips for people who feel lost (via saltaconmigo)
Excerpts from Your Soul is a River.
'We live on a flying rock, surrounded by seven other flying rocks, that go around the same giant fireball, and somehow never crash into each other. And out of all eight rocks, only ours can sustain an atmosphere that breathes life into the lungs of majestic lionesses, vibrant birds and butterflies and eight billion human beings. And you want me to believe that we met each other and fell in love purely by accident, and there is no such thing as luck or soulmates or miracles?â
And the perfectionist Finally learned To love The imperfections.
the last 18 years of my life in 4 lines (via soulsscrawl)