What would you call it if you neither wanted to go to sleep, nor stay awake, because it wasn’t worth it to remain conscious, and sleep provided no haven either? In wakefulness, you frown and exist like a burden, and then when you think about it at night, sleep becomes the burden, weighed down by insipid dreams.

I am selfish, I’ll admit. I look for others to love me, appreciate me, and I miss it, because I left behind one who did. You don’t really realize what you’ve lost until you lose it.

Logic tells me that all I need is a little time. Things work out, like they always do, in one way or another. The first year of engineering wasn’t amazing either, was it? Somebody always comes along. All I need is a little time…a little time.

Until then, I admit…I’m homesick.

I’m a romantic, I’m a cynic. What am I? She said I’m special, unique. Everyone’s unique. No, I’m different. I cannot be stereotyped. And I will not be modest enough to deny that. But I’m a romantic and a cynic, and I’m a perfectionist. What am I?

I don’t know.

Sometimes, I think I think too much. Do I? Maybe. I comfort myself by saying that I’d rather be this way than not. I’d rather think a lot and find wisdom and the pride that comes with it, but I often find myself craving the bliss that comes with ignorance. Should I want to be like someone else? Should I want to be satisfied just a little easier? There are people for whom the smallest of things become the biggest of things, and the little things in life are all they care about. I dream big. I don’t think I’ll be satisfied with a partner for life, I want a soul-mate, I want that one that’s been made for only me.

A juvenile idea, that’s what it is, I know. But I’ve already professed I’m a romantic. And I’m a cynic too, because I know that stuff like that only happens in movies and books, in a world that’s only meant to entertain and enthrall us, make us wish we were the characters in a story with a perfect ending, and we’ll live happily ever after…but I know we won’t.

Settle for something less, settle for something reachable, settle for something practical. Yes, I know that, thank you very much, because I say it to myself every day. But I’ve also been a firm proponent of the idea that we have almost no control over the way we feel, sometimes. We have control over our actions, but that’s different. I have no control over what makes me angry, but I can control the urge to smash the mirror or to throw a rock at someone. I can’t control when I feel sad, or get a feeling that something bad is going to happen. Another juvenile, childish, clichéd phrase, I know, I know.

I also cannot deny that just as every end once had a beginning, every beginning is the beginning of an end, at some point. The honeymoon is over, and the relationship is bound to change. I’ve been preparing myself for this all along. Have I not experienced something like this already? Why then does it bother me?

Is this irrelevant to what I’ve been writing so far? If you’re reading this, then yes it is. If I’m writing it, then no, it’s not. I don’t blame you for not understanding. If you wrote it, and I read it, I wouldn’t understand it either. This is just a free flow of thoughts, condensed, beaten, moulded against their will into words, for thoughts have no structure, no words, no shape or colour or touch or sound. And this is why I cut my writing short, because as the thoughts flow from one to the other, they end up dangerously toeing the line of incoherence. And this is where I’ll stop now.

Dear 20.2,

I used to think that 20 fascinated me. She did, but perhaps fascination is an exagerration. I certainly am interested in knowing her better. I might even go so far as to say, even at this point when I think I know her a little better, that I wouldn’t mind if she was a little more attracted to me. That being said, however, nowadays, I find my attention being grabbed more and more by you. If the two of you are in the same room, I’d rather be sitting with you than with her, I find. You’ve definitely got a more charming smile, but that has to be taken for granted considering I’ve always been a sucker for your smile. I’m beginning to find more things about you attractive now, like your soft voice, your eyes and your face. And when I say “face”, I mean how it all just falls into place, in sync with your smile.

I might have given a little more room to my emotions and feelings had you not been going out with someone else though. For now, I restrain myself from flirting with you or telling you how attractive you really are.

I spent hours in the rain, feeling the water slide off my skin, like the thoughts of you that I wished would  do the same. Memories of you cling to me like the sweat on my summer skin. So I stood in the rain, eyes  closed, face turned up to the sky. Streams of crystal water slid down my face, mingling with tears, dropping  from the tips of my beard. Somewhere in the distance, life went on. Toads were rejoicing, and frogs were  mating. None of my emptiness mattered to the world. Everything was alright. Somewhere beyond my limit of  vision, a rainbow peeked blushingly out from behind the clouds, taking its first look at a wet world, watched loving by his father, the sun. I think I heard it’s mirthful squeal of excitement. I wonder if I might ever find this world as wonderful as the rainbow did. Birds chirrup loudly, and I’m sure I hear their songs. For once, the cars were quiet and human life came to a stop. No one was shouting, no one was yelling. No one was  fighting or glaring in dislike. No one cared about anything but keeping themselves dry.

When I opened my eyes, I saw blurry hues of green and blue, speckled with the dull brown of the mud. It took a while to wipe the water and the tears from my eyes, and a little longer to wipe my glasses. But in that one moment when I put them on, I felt my breath being taken away. Here I was, in solitude, with no sounds to hear, but the melodies of nature and the voices in my own head and heart. For a few minutes, the voices were silent. I was absorbed, I was but a mere thread in the fabric of life, and while I stood surrounded by the  truth itself, it reached out to me. I am but a mere thread in the fabric of life, and life is eternal. I am eternal. Everything I do, everything I touch, everyone I meet is a part of me, and I am a part of them. We are all different, and yet we are one, and we are all eternal. There I stood, finally finding the peace that eluded me for days.

The rain abated finally, and the clouds parted lovingly for the sun to smile at me. I smiled back at it, my  first smile in days…since you’ve been gone. I pick a fallen flower; so gently it lay on the soaked ground that it reminded me of you, lying gently and peacefully under the surface of the earth. But today, for the  first time since you went away, I am at peace. I lay the flower gently back on the ground where it belongs,  for in the end, everything must return to where it came from…even you.