Rya Ray

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Dear Girish,
The strangest thing happened today. I was at College Street walking past the lane of the bookstores when I decided to stop at Bubu Dada's tea stall for a cup of his famous Cha. I was sipping away, thinking of the day when we were here, and it was the first time you held my hand. It was also the day we kissed for the first time. Your lips tasted like tea the first time mine touched them. On my way back home,  I'd bought you a book on poetry, if you remember. We'd always trip on poetry. There was this particular poem, which I was reading, when we began making out on your terrace. The aunty next door could see us. You kissed me more earnestly after that. I got carried away. I'm sorry. The shop next to the tea stall had many old books stacked up. I walk closer and see a copy of the very same book. I flip through the pages and suddenly the book props open at the very same poem. "If-Rudyard Kipling". My hands tremble as I see the familiar lipstick stain on the left corner of the page. I turn to the first page.
"To Girish, Because we always trip on poetry. Love, Rya."
Fuck. Fuck you. You sold the book to an old book store. I don't feel bad for deleting your number last night.

Why, though?

28 FEB AT 22:19

I've missed you
more than
I thought I would.
You remind me
of the people
I thought I'd never miss,
but did, after all.

I've missed you.

27 FEB AT 20:34

You're forest fire, baby.
You're burning me down by the acre.
A while back you were
grazing near my lips,
and suddenly now you're
in the burning of my toes.
You feed off the breaths I heave
as you scorch through my insides.
Silence stokes our soul.
I feel younger, yet 'us' feels old.
Like a phoenix, you rise from my ashes.
Like a dry autumn leaf, I fall
and crumble on your merciless palms.
Your hands chart journeys deftly.
And my body reaches destinations.
We, are evidence why
fire is good for the soil.
I shrivel at the edges, like a paper
teased by a flame.
I mutter prayers whilst I burn,
waiting for my next turn.
You're forest fire, baby.
And I'm not putting you out.
Hell no.

Forest Fire.

13 FEB AT 8:11

I think
the most
horrifying and
comforting
thing is
how we'll
never know
what we'd
have become
if we took
the other road,
scored above
the cutoff,
applied for 
the other job
and loved
the other person.

The road not taken.

12 FEB AT 21:33

Trouble is
we've been crushed
way too long
with love for someone
who has been crushed
way too long
with love for someone
who couldn't love them back,
and there's so much deficit
by the end of it
that the first thing
we teach ourselves
is to free
our hands and hearts
from another's
hands and hearts
the very moment
they begin feeling
like home.

Nested loops?

5 FEB AT 23:00

When I wake up,
for the first few seconds,
the world hasn't kicked in
and your thoughts tiptoe
at the edge this universe
and another where
we end up together and
wake up next to each other
holding hands with entangled feet.
When I wake up,
for the first few seconds,
we've not been schooled
to not love each other.
When I wake up,
for the first few seconds,
you're mine.

Good morning?

1 FEB AT 7:33

The sun sets
beautifully
and reminds me
yet again
of the
truest fears
and of the
truest loves.

Before sunset.

28 JAN AT 21:42

I will arrive
some day
at your doorstep
crying
and out of breath
not because you
made me sad
but because you 
made me feel
anything at all
when all hope
was spent
and my conscience
were empty.
That day
I will wait 
for you
to open the door
and say
'Thank you',
But today
I'll draw the curtains
and stay quiet.

Thank you.

28 JAN AT 11:38

The trouble is
the only love letters
we have written
to each other
have been with
fingers and hands
moving between
our own thighs
in rooms no one
can watch us
dying a bit
out of love
that loses its way;
just like these letters.

Are you writing me a love letter tonight?

27 JAN AT 22:33

Nothing fits
my emptiness
like
your emptiness.

Empty.

27 JAN AT 20:50