Dragging the ruined past through a messy present and into the perfect future...

I don't know how it happened, but there it lay, at the bottom, in pieces. I didn't notice the glass until it was the last thing left sodden in the sink. I didn't notice its brokenness until my finger scraped against its edge and blood slowly swirled into the swimming water. It was beautiful, in a very wrong way. To see the thick crimson slowly push through the clueless transparent. To form patterns that were graceful in their motion. It was the kind of beauty that captures your attention because of its unexpectedness. It was strange to watch it all slowly disappear into pink. I wish it would have lasted a little longer. Pale pink. The kind of color that makes one crinkle their nose and look away.

Stupendous. I think it is stupendous. I want a summer day by a country side. Lush green grass and cloudy sky. There is beauty in subtlety. In saying nothing at all while saying a lot. In tip toeing around the edges. In that smile dripping with meaning. It makes me think of a couple of strangers from centuries past. The ones who have got down to the dance floor and the first words between them are yet to be exchanged. A debutante's ball, maybe. There is eye contact. Shy glances. And a particularly delicious feeling that has wrapped them up into a bubble of silent smiles. The only sounds known to them is that of the piano, the tap of his shoes and the rustle of her dress.

The thing about words is that once uttered, they can never be taken back. There is no erasing their permanent effect. There is something almost ugly about saying what others won't. Immensely courageous. And undeniably attractive. They could be shouted off rooftops. They could be whispered to you under a winter blanket. They could be scribbled on the fridge in a hurry. They could be scripted conscientiously in a letter. These words. I wish there was an escape. Once in a while.

I am thinking of brothers on a hotel bed. I don't know if the thought was triggered by the song. Maybe it was. I have images of two little boys tucked into bed but far from sleepy. They are talking to each other, whispering words in the darkness. There isn't any enmity. No hint of pleasant rivalry that is often seen to cause friction between siblings. This image reminds me of my own brother. Of Raiyan. There are all sorts of blessings that God bestows upon us. But finding a friend in a brother is probably the most beautiful of them all.

Each broken heart will eventually mend. You will be loved like you have never known. And memories of me will seem more like bad dreams, just a series of blurs like I never occurred. You may feel alone when you are falling asleep and every time tears roll down your cheek. But I know your heart belongs to someone you have yet to meet. And I wish you would know it too. I am but something that should have been forgotten with the new day. Leaving behind a light scent of darkness. Something that can be easily shrugged off. There is a lot I want to tell. Words of mine that I have arranged carefully just for you. But I chose to borrow those of Death Cab's. Because for now, they will do.

It's been three days now. Without mama. Without papa. And it is interesting to see the three of us exist. Live. Grow. Laugh. Love. Dinner conversation has definitely changed. Siblings talk differently in the absence of their parents. Mostly because parents tend to be the topic of discussion. Causing us to splutter through food that should have been long swallowed. There is mirth. And a beautiful understanding that tends to knot a family together in a tight bond. The one that no time or triumph can break through.

This is also the first, the three of us are getting to spend an extended period of time with each other and no one else. It is interesting. To be constantly surprised by how different we are yet so similar. Uncanny almost. There is pleasure in seeing a loved one grow. And I have two such people who bring joy to my heart with every success they embrace. Blood is thicker than water. And much more painful to wipe off when spilled.

I wish you could ask me to look at the stars again. I miss having someone whisper to me that it was all yellow. The memory of it is quite vague too. But it is enough to make me smile. When you told me about the line you drew and all the jumping and swimming across you would do. You made me believe, that they all shone for me, these stars. That for me you bled. That you wrote a song of all the things I do. That it was all yellow. To make a melancholic girl feel beautiful. To sing for her a favorite song when no one else would. To have her fall in love. In that moment. Oh what a thing to do.. And I never got around to thanking you..