Come Back To Bed

It was 2 in the morning. She sat at the window, looking out but not really seeing anything. It was dark outside. Black as the color of death. The moon didn't shine today, as it normally did. She suspected it was hidden somewhere behind some cloud, waiting to be given a chance to come out again. Waiting for those storm clouds to quietly pass by. But of course they didn't. Storm clouds never leave without causing some kind of destructive storm. Most of the time the destructions are reparable. But what if it wasn't now. What if this storm that had just occurred had caused irreparable damage? What would she do? Would she survive the chaos and destruction that surrounded her? Literally. Would she fight for what she loved? Or did it not matter anymore, now that some part, told her she didn't.

He sat on the bed. The bed that had been full of the warmth from their bodies was cold now, her side of it, empty and untouched. There was no light in the room, except for the dullness of the moon, through weathered clouds, marking his silhouette. All around him was broken glass. Remnants of frames and birthday presents that had once been. It was all shattered now. Broken into pieces like the love they once shared. What had they done? where had they gone wrong? How did it come to this? They had been so good together. Now he couldn't stand the sight of her. Her moods, her tantrums, her independence, everything that he once loved about her, now boiled his blood.  Maybe it was a good thing that it had come to this. Maybe they just weren't meant to be. Maybe he was better off without her. She was too dramatic and he couldn't stand it. As he walked out to tell her that it was over, his shoe came down on something, further crumpling the shards of glass to pieces. He bent over to pick it up, and stared...

Outside, she sat. Hands in her lap, taking in the bruises from the frames she'd broken in a fit of rage. She had a temper she knew, but so did he. He was as bad as her. As strong-willed as she was. They were like fire against fire. Their love was passionate, but their anger was wrathful. As she sat and looked on, the blood slowly drying around the bruises, she knew it was over. This was a storm, they couldn't surpass. This was a severe fight, they could never get over. Words had been said. Words that could never be taken back. It was words that brought them together, and words that would tear them apart. In that moment she despised 'love.' Love that had consumed her so many times but had eventually fizzled out. She was so engulfed in her own thoughts and emotions that she didn't see him come up to her, and take her hands in his. Even when she did realize, she was too stunned to pull away. He drew her close, still holding her hands, gently but firmly and whispered something in her ear. He pulled back, held her eyes for a moment, got up and went back to the bedroom.

When she opened her palm to see what it was that he had left in her hand, she saw a picture. It was the picture of an abnormally large, homemade cake. Sprinkles had been used to write a sentence in the middle of the cake. She looked at it, and felt her heart contract. Of course she remembered that picture. She had made that cake. It had been one of those nights when he'd been sitting up late and working. She'd woken up in the middle of the night and made that cake to tell him how much she missed him by her side. His arms, the warmth and security of his chest. And he'd laughed so much at the gesture, eventually smearing cake all over her face. It was that day, that they'd sworn, they'd always be together and never leave each others side. She smiled now at the memory, and gave in. That part that had told her only minutes ago that she didn't love him had dissolved. Because she did love him. No matter what. She always had, and always would.And she knew he loved her too. That look that he had just given her, had said it all. So she did exactly what he'd whispered in her ear. She did exactly what was written on that cake that she had baked for him, that night.

As she walked into the bedroom, the picture fell to the ground. And the light of the moon that had finally come out, shone on the words sprinkled delicately onto the cake...
..."Come back to bed."

A Letter of Words Never Said.

October 08, 2013
To: Heaven
Subject: Hey, you.
Hey, you. Happy Birthday!
I've  been thinking about you alot lately. I don't know why, but I have. This whole week, Ive been reminiscing. Memories of how we were, how it all changed, how I was a bitch to you, (make sure you don't show God this letter, yeah. :P) and in the end how, you got the last laugh. Honestly, Im writing this letter not knowing what to say. How and where to begin. So Im just going to start with the standard Hi. How are you? I hope its good where you are. Happier, peaceful. Is it heavenly? After all, they must call it Heaven or Paradise for a reason right? Whats it like, Heaven? Are there angels constantly flying around playing harps and singing all the time?! I bet it reminds you of me doesn't it?! Except I don't fly...hiyaah. Sorry. Im digressing. But I know I made you laugh. Are there beautiful gardens? Oh oh. What about food?! How delicious is it?! Do you'll have buffets and feasts with all the residents and the saints?? And what's God like? Is he just as we imagined him?? Like how we learnt in Sunday School? Is he tall, long white hair, white beard? Does he look like a more glorious version of Dumbledore?! I know, I know. Even here I have to make silly Harry Potter references. If you were in front of me, you would've probably smacked me hard on the back by now.
But that's just it, isn't it. You're not here. And when you were, I didn't care. I took advantage of the fact that I thought you'd ALWAYS be there. I didn't give you the attention you deserved because I thought you didn't need it. No. Let me rephrase that. I didn't WANT to give it to you. I thought there were other people more deserving and capable of my love than you. And all the while, you waited patiently, hoping and knowing that one day I would come around. It kills me slowly everyday to think of how I just left you HANGING onto that hope. And it probably always will.

I get now, why you did what you did. I don't approve of it and never will, but I get it. I hated you more than I'll ever admit, in that moment when I'd found out because whatever the reason, you had no right to give up. To just throw it all away. I couldn't comprehend what was so bad that you chose to take such a drastic step. But I do now.. And the epiphany of it drives an imaginary stake through my heart every single time that I think about you.
It was me. You made that decision because of ME.
You needed love. You needed comfort. You needed a drive, something that would keep you going. You needed to know that you were strong enough to take whatever life threw at you, however big or small. You needed to know that you were NEEDED. Loved to a point beyond your common fairytale imagination. You needed to know that you were strong and beautiful no matter what anyone said. And I was never there. Never there to fulfil any of those needs. I never gave you that love, that comfort, that strength. I never gave you that escape route in the disguise of a phone call that you so desperately needed. And THAT'S why you did what you did.
But they say everything happens for a reason, so now I look at your decision as a way to end your suffering. To finally let go of that burden you were carrying with a smile we knew all too well. I imagine you're happy now. Peaceful, burden-free enjoying a kickass birthday with God. But its my turn now, to need. My turn to need YOU. To tell you how sorry I am. To say goodbye. My turn to need that one person who had the ability to piss me off and make me smile, all in that same moment.
I miss you, and I hope this letter will tell you how sorry I am that you're gone. But at the same time, I hope it tells you how happy I am that you've finally found happiness and love. And a place where you can say, you finally belong.

P.S: Remind God, that he still has one of my dreams pending, will you.

Love,
Your harami,
Renelle.

Survival of the Strongest.

What did you expect when you saw him standing there, that first time. What did you expect when he told you that he cared.
What did you expect when you realized he was lying, slipping away.
That eventually he would leave, running scared.

What did you expect, when you realised it was over, what did you expect when he gave you back your heart.
What did you expect as you helplessly watched love walk out the front door,
when you saw your whole world being slowly and deliberately torn apart.

What did you expect when he tried to break you.
Over and over with the same disheartening set of words.
What did you expect when he took you for granted...
Calculatingly causing pain and hurt.

No, you didn't expect any of the events that unfolded.
Neither did you want him to come around.
What you expected was to feel a certain kind of strength knowing that somewhere hope would eventually be found.

You didn't expect to feel worthless, though you cant deny that it was there.
But I know that you're capable of so much more, that believing otherwise would be anything but fair.
I know what you've gone through.
I look at you and see the burden that you silently carry 'neath the vibrance in your eyes.
I know you didn't expect to be broken beyond repair,
but I expect you to, like you Always do...
...survive.

Shadowed And Protected.

She sat on the bathroom floor. Crying, and trying to stop those tears that were eating her inside. But her attempts were too feeble. The tears came, rolling hard and stubborn down her cheeks. It made her face feel hot and sticky. But she didn't care. All she wanted were for the tears to stop. She wanted the pain to go away. She didn't like feeling this way. No, 'didn't like' would be an understatement. She loathed it. This was not her. Helpless and lonely. She was a strong girl. She knew her way around and she knew what she was capable of. She knew she could take care of herself. Despite what people said, she wasn't naive and she didn't need to be shadowed and protected. It was not easy, she knew. This world is a cruel place to live in. But she could get by. She WOULD get by. She didn't need to be told otherwise.
As she sat there willing herself to stop feeling so miserable, there was a book that lay by her side. The cover had a man- no, a boy- hardly the age of 16 or 17 with a sword swung across his back. He had a black half sleeved shirt on, and while most of it was covered, the marks on his skin- pale and even- stood out like vivid scars on his arms and neck. His eyes were a mystery. Not only because they were unreadable but also because they weren't there. The cover ended a little above his nose revealing only an angular jaw, a thin but full set of lips and a few locks of his brown unsettled hair. Below, just where his torso ended, was the title of the book. She took it in her hands now and wished, not for the first time, that that boy on the cover was real. That she were a part of the world that existed within that book, rather than a part of this world that she lived in with such hurt and misery.. That she stood for something more than just what this life offered her. She wished with all her heart, that she was, like the boy on the cover, a warrior. A fighter, who was strong and independent. She was always a book lover, feeling the emotions, loving the characters devouring herself when she needed a getaway. But this book, was different. It connected with her, in ways she didn't even understand. Whenever she thought of the book, she felt happy. Content. Because no matter what, she would always have that little escape route. Even if it was for a few hours, it was there. She sat now, on that bathroom floor and clutched the book tightly to her chest. She hoped that the warm and crisp pages of the world within would give her comfort. That the smell and scent of those pages, would soothe her mind and calm her nerves.
But nothing happened. Nothing came. No peace, no comfort. And she knew it even before she acknowledged it. Nothing could come and pull her out now. Nothing could save her. This wasn't something she could escape from. No matter what, it would eventually catch up with her. Her fate was sealed. Bound by traditions and customs of the world. There was no choice. She never had one. She knew she could take on the world. But the only problem was, she would never be allowed to. She would have to carry out her duty. First as obedient daughter, now as dutiful wife.
Fairytales, she knew now, were the only ones with happy endings. She would never get that. Because she would never be allowed to fly. She would never be allowed to let her imaginations run away with the wind.

She was tied to life's cruelty. And it would never let her go. She would always be kept hidden away on a dusty shelf.

Shadowed and Protected.

Fangirl, and Proud.

Nothing, of late, has been inspiring me to write. Nothing grasps my attention in the way that it would. Neither do my emotions come out like it normally should. You'd think I was having a phase where my emotions are turned off. Or it's probably just that time of the month and my moods are running crazy. But no. I highly doubt that's the case. You see, for the past week or two, I've been channeling my emotions, my attention and all of my energy toward a different kind of activity. Fangirling. (Yes, I'm THAT girl. :P )
So I decided to write about THIS set of my emotions, to put across the idea of what fangirling really is. Well, underneath all the screams and hysterical giggles and fits of ecstatic almost manic happiness.
I have this very close friend of mine who's a fangirl. So I'm going to use her as an example. For those of you who know me, there's a high chance you'll know who she is. But for the ones who don't, lets leave her a mystery, shall we. So this 'mystery best friend' of mine is not just ANY fangirl. She takes shipping ABC's CASTLE and BECKETT,(Caskett, for those of you who've been living under a rock. ) to a whole new level. They are her all time OTP, (One True Pair) ALWAYS. She's admin of at least 1 Castle page on almost every social network. She trends hastags at the speed of lightning. She eats up every update and promotional information there is about Castle like a hungry hyena. She cries at the end of a sad episode and goes red in the face with a fit of giggles when it ends well. Sometimes she's crying and laughing at the same time, and you don't know what to think. Like I said, she's no ordinary fangirl. And at first, I didn't quite understand. I mean, sure. I fangirl too. (Although I'll never be as good as her. ) And trust me when I say, I have TONS of fandoms, Harry Potter, The Mortal Instruments and Percy Jackson being some of the main few. Everything amazes me and everything captures my attention. But it wasn't until recently that it really REALLY hit home. 

The thing with me is, I love to read. When I have a book in my hand, you could be standing right in from of me and I wouldn't know. I tune everyone and everything out. So my fangirling isn't really, like my 'mystery best friend''s is, 'The TV Show' kind. I like TV shows, don't get me wrong! But when I read a book, I'm transported to a completely different world. And THAT'S when the fangirling begins. Because I don't limit my emotions and my expectation of these fictional characters. Whether they play a positive part or have a negative role, they intrigue me. I imagine these characters as if they were a part of my life. As if I were a part of every little situation in their world. I picture what they would be like in reality. Their features, their traits. Whether they're good or bad, they take a place in my heart. I try to understand and comprehend what drives them. And I fall in love. Over and over again. I fell in love with Sydney Carton from A Tale Of Two Cities and Catherine Earnshaw from Wuthering Heights solely because of the fact that I understood where they were coming from without really understanding how I understood it. When I obsess about Jace Wayland/ Herondale from the Mortal Instruments or about William Herondale from the Infernal Devices, I don't do it because they're HOT or BRITISH. (Which they are, no doubt about that. :P) But, I do it because I see the ideal man in William. I see a warrior. I see a man who would protect the ones he loves with his life. I see Jace as what a man should be or at least strive to be like. That beneath the sarcasm and humor, the 'I don't give a rat's ass about anybody but myself' facade, and walls that touch the sky, is a boy just waiting to be understood and loved. And that's what amazes me. (I know, I know. I sound very crazy.)

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, fangirling isn't just jumping and screaming and yelping and gasping like many people think it is. It's much much more than that. My 'mystery best friend' doesn't just obsess about Castle because she's got nothing else to set her mind on. She does it because sometimes she needs to escape from reality. She learns from the characters, she feels what they feel, she understands, she relates. It lets her believe that there are happy endings despite the cruelness of the world. Even if it is temporary and fictional. It gives her hope and a reason to believe in something.
I couldn't agree more. To be aware of your emotions is a gift in itself. But to able to accept it and channel it effortlessly is a marvelous talent. And to me, THAT'S what fangirling is all about. Not a psychotic, boy crazy hysterical being, but someone with the ability to dream. Someone with a beautiful and vivid imagination.

Someone who believes.

There Are No Words.

There are no words to describe the feeling of ecstasy,
that ran through her veins when she heard it for the first time.
The soft thumping of a heart...
the heart of a tiny unknown child.

There are no words to depict the joy in her heart,
the joy that came with the sight of that unknown little one.
resting and waiting in her womb...
...while she wondered if she would be blessed...
this time with a little baby girl rather than another loving son.

There are no words to illustrate the enjoyment she felt,
while she shopped and looked for things that would one day belong..
...all of it, to her unborn little angel.
3 months down, 6 more to go, she could barely contain her anticipation.
Drawn, once again, into the mystery and hopefulness of it all.

There are no words to express the cold that washed over her,
when the first signs of realization dawned.
Realization, that even before she had the chance to hold that tiny unknown child,
The chance slipped away and was gone.

No. There are no words to describe the cruel game fate played with her..
No words to explain the grief that engulfed her,
when she watched that tiny unknown, unborn and unbreathing child being separated..
and taken away from her.
Never to know her.
Never to love her.
Never to be a mother to her.

 

The Memory Of An Exception: Part The Second.

As we stood backstage watching the other contestants and smiling furtively at each other as certain songs reminded us of inside jokes we'd cracked, he kept playfully punching my shoulder and telling me I was worrying too much. That I was simply going to kill it. And I told him that he shouldn't be this laid back about it because I was going to beat him hollow. (Which, of course I regretted later.) But he just narrowed his eyes and gave me a quirky grin saying. "We shall see." Even as I said it, my heart contracted in my chest. I didn't want to beat him hollow. I wanted him to feel that same joy of winning that I felt. But I wasn't going to tell him that. He already suspected I was going cookoo. Why give him a reason to confirm it. (I admit, I was being a bit crazy. Hysterical giggles when you're nervous, having cold water when you know you're going to sing...who does that ?! ) But our little quiet argument was thrown off guard, when one of the contestants before me sang a rendition of 'Rolling in the Deep' and probably made the hair on the back of the necks of everyone in the room stand. And also gave me a horrible complex. (Hey, I'm only human.) At that, a terrible cold washed over me. It never happened before, (I mean it did, though not this bad.) but it was happening now. I was almost in tears, clutching his arm and digging my nails into it. (I can't believe the masochistic fellow even willingly gave me his blasted hand!!) and telling him I couldn't do it. That I was gonna run out of the auditorium before the cold of the AC pricked through my skin and before the pressure of it all forced my knees to give way. But he was calm and smiling. That angelic smile that covered a storm in his eyes. Because he knew I couldn't do it. WOULDN'T do it. He knew me too well to worry that I would chicken out because I couldn't hit a high note or sing an emotionally 'angst-ridden' song. (What did I tell you about crazy?)
I hardly had time to do anything to compose myself when she was done and I was called on stage. I let go of his arm, (which I have a strong feeling was scratched and burning) took a deep breath and walked onto the stage. Everyone was cheering and screaming, but I could hardly hear them over the buzz in my ears from the tremble and coldness I felt inside. And then suddenly my father, bless him, out of nowhere screamed out my name and cheered. My head snapped up at that. My dad had seen him, had seen us on that stage together and he'd cheered. It seemed we were off to a good start. THAT, calmed me a wee bit and gave me the guts to introduce my song. I smiled to myself for a minute at the connection of it to me and that boy on stage and began.
I glided through the song effortlessly, closing my eyes when I felt I had to, in order to engulf myself in the song. I pulled all the emotions I needed, and placed it here and there around the song deftly and delicately. The auditorium faded away and it was just him, the song and me. I was living the tune. Breathing the words, feeling it. And he guided me brilliantly through it. He knew exactly where my voice rose like the tide and exactly where it fell into a whisper. I was aware of every note and every chord that he played. I was aware of his presence near me. It stood out like a single lily growing in a bed of red roses. All the pointers he gave me, the places that he felt needed my utmost concentration, I kept in mind. I had never been so aware of him before that moment. And then we were looming towards that high note. That note that would determine the fate of the entire song. I hesitated for a fraction of a second...but then knew I could do it. Because HE knew I could do it. He never doubted it even once. And it was my duty to prove him right. I wanted nothing more than to make him proud. When I was done and opened my eyes to see the crowd cheer, I looked over at him. Not until I saw that smile, did I realize I was holding my breath for it. For his reaction. He didn't look at me, but it was there. Written all over his face. His smile. 
For that moment, for that one single moment nothing mattered at all. Not the way the crowd cheered or the idea of winning or even the fact that the boy beside me didn't love me or feel the same way about me anymore but only cared for me like a friend should. All that mattered, was the smile on his face. That smile that echoed joy, that echoed respect and most importantly pride. For a while, a while that felt like a fraction of second, everything...EVERYTHING seemed to fall into place.

And then reality hit home.