Born to Die

(Diary of a teenager 0707)


You said it is the game of lights. I could not get it out of my mind. I was so fascinated by flickering rhythmic lights that they made a mirror to the happiness in my life. The red color in which we sat for hours talking and cuddling, I could fill the warmth of your body like the steam of a freshly brewed coffee; irresistible and I craved for more.

Your den was like a dark matter composed of the four walls where I could romanticize the lights singing to us lullaby. The collage on your wall with hundreds of faces so silent as if they are dried of words but overflowing with thoughts that they have been trying to scream through you. And there you lie with your arms that can stretch wide enough where my entire world collapses; how poignantly I was addicted to it.

The silent loud cries I made every time we made love; I wanted to inhabit the moments of life but it was like the tragedy that happens in Martin's stories where death comes the moment you start liking it. How funny is it that within the pain and anguish I find peace.

Somewhere amongst the white dust, red lights, dark den I discovered a way to recover from the agonizing soul I was trapped in. The den gave shelter to the wandering soul who was hopelessly searching for a shed amongst the desert full of mirage and cactus. It was the black box which could protect her from the war she had with her own mind and body.

I could see your peaceful face oozing magic from your milky skin when the delicate morning sun rays kissed you making their way through the small space between curtains. I could listen to your heartbeat, let me feel you breathing; it pushes me to a world of incessantly wild day-dreams.

I had always wanted to be that letter kept in some shoe box on the top of your cupboard or in the attic with the memories you could never throw away. The dust on it would remind how we got wasted sinking into each other’s unguarded emotions that haunted as if we were born to die!