Like those disclaimers before the movies, I thought my life bears no resemblance with others, just a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person is a pure coincidence. But the paper proved me wrong. The letters scribbled on it mocked at me when I told them my story. And then I realized you were the ink to my papers.
You came to me like a summer breeze , hot ,warm and making me restless. Your presence was something I had always feared. But slowly, as the summer turned into rains, and it started to drizzle, you showered me with your attention, love and care. And I started dreaming about your touch. Gone were those hostility and those ignorance. You made me come in terms of my past and made me spoon the threads of a beautiful dream.
You know, we all are like these white papers. Everything leaves an impression. A dot, a line , a tangled mess of doodles, a tear drop or any stain, everything leaves an impression. Even some deep stretched wound of those who are close to us, leaves a mark. Still the paper remains white. Bearing all those scars on its soul, it craves for the ink which would see beyond the white of its heart. You were like that ink to me, Which poured itself on me and covered all those scars, with the color of its being.
Sometimes I do wonder, Does a blank paper matters to ink , as much as the ink matters to it?Does the ink feel proud to leave its permanent imprints on the heart of papers? Or its just another notch in its belt!? . Does it craves to touch that used sheet of paper, as much as the paper wants to be kissed again.!? Does the colorful ink ever gets intrigued by the blankness of the sheet!? I often wonder, does it know , how much it matters to the paper to bear it’s marks for the rest of it’s life!
Even the paper feels jealous about the other blank sheets. They have what, she lost. Time! They are still pure. She thinks about the other 100 pages the ink had touched . They have what she is yet to achieve. Experience! She compares herself with all those blank sheets and also with all the written ones. Does the ink find them more beautiful than her?Has it told more stories to them?Has the ink ever told them about her?The page wonders, Is she the only one to fall in love with the ink or are there many! It wonders Which page is the ink’s favorite one!. Does it care about the pages as much as they care about him!?
Unfortunately,no one asked the ink about it. Had they asked, a new piece of paper could have refrained itself from falling in love with the ink. That’s the fault with the readers. They never ask. They only trust the ink. Had they known the deceptive nature of the ink, they could have tried to listen those suppressed sobs of the papers. The cries which still echoes in the spaces between two words, the echoes which could be heard in the untouched parts between the lines.They could have seen the unrequited love which remains hidden in the commas and semicolons. And could have felt the torments of heartache which are witnessed by the periods and full stops. Had they known they could have stopped the ink from scribbling more and more poems on papers and in return stealing away bits and pieces of the innocence of the page. But unfortunately, no one ever asked, nor they have ever tried to hear.
You know, That’s why I blamed me, the people around me and you, for what had happened between us. The way you touched me to the core, the way you drenched my heart with your tears and the way you made me fall in love with the protagonists of your stories. The way you kept on writing poems and stories about Us and the way you kept on Scribbling the lessons from the past. And the way you vanished from my life, without any bye, without saying anything ,had left me craving for more . But no one ever cared. Not even you! You’re supposed to steal my scars, you were supposed to color me with your kisses. I was supposed to take all the burden away from your heart. I was supposed to soak those tears of your bleeding heart. We both did our job. But in between I fell in love and you didn’t. Or was it like you said that you fell in love and left me waiting for you forever!? Had I known I wasn’t sufficient, I would have saved my self for someone else. For someone who after caressing me, wouldn’t have left me . Now see, I’m everything but blank . You will never come back to me. But someone will. Someone will come back and read me again and again. Someone will take me in hands caress those wounds given by you.He will be intoxicated by the way I smell, but would never know I have drowned myself in the aroma of yours. Someone will fall in love with me. But he would never know me the way you did. He could never leave an impact on me the way you did. He would fall in love ; But not with me. He will fall in love with the girl you left behind.
Time would change. The white of the paper would gradually turn into yellow. But the marks on it would still glow in pride. The words signed by the ink wouldn’t fade away. Time could not heal these wounds of the paper, it can only make it grow older with it. After some days, the corners would be tattered , but still those inks would matter. Those words, those wounds now define the paper. The scars she was trying to hide would now become her identity. May be the ink would return to it, after realizing it’s worth, but it wouldn’t be the same old blank sheet, naive and eager. The ink might try to reunite with it again, but that would only deepen the wounds, stealing away all the beauty of those scars. Now the paper knows, they were star crossed lover, for one has to die if they wish to remain together .
I used to think you to be the journey which I never fathomed the courage to complete. But those ruffling paper sheets spoke to me of destiny. Perhaps I wasn’t destined enough to be your destination. Perhaps to you I was the journey you would cherish forever or never. Perhaps the miles that you crossed would be treasured in the space beneath your heart or would never even never cross your mind. Perhaps when you complete that dream story of yours may be , may be some where I would be in the acknowledgement section or would be somewhere in the pile of rejected sheets.Lets just hope that I at least makes it to the acknowledgement section.But I would be lost in the crowd. That uniqueness of mine wouldn’t matter to you anymore! Would it!?After all ,the story is about achieving the goal and I was not even a mile stone.
I would not try to make you come back, but I’ll wait for you. Wait for the day when you will come back and see how you had helped me to grow. How those small bits of your heart has now become the Alma matter of my survival. I would like to see that pride in your eyes, in the same time want to see that helplessness of not being able to touch me again. If you ever decide to come back, you will find me the way you left me, but what you couldn’t figure out would be the way I will flaunt my scars. For , I have learnt to believe in the power of being broken . For Now I believe in Scars being beautiful.
I have crumpled myself. Tried to burn myself. I have leapt in to the ocean and I have flown into The hurricane, but no one had been able to erase those imprints. So I decided to flaunt them. I’m not going to tell them to you, coz you could never notice. Like a paper I haven’t been granted the power to pour my heart out. You are the ink, you are the one to speak. I was the one to get drenched and I’m still getting drenched. I’m yet to make people believe,that it’s not me but you.
The first time when I was drenched, it was raining blood from your heart. Now when I make people cry, I rejoice those tears, thinking it to be you. I’m living in these stolen moments, when people believe it’s my story and offer their condolences.
But you know, I wish someday, they could see it all along. I wish they see the resemblance between the lies told by the ink and see the helplessness of the papers. Some day, I want a fellow to go to that never read acknowledgement section and seek out for me. I believe those colors of the ink would fade in the waves of time. But what about those imprints! I want the fellow to touch those scars and feel how deep the wounds were! I want him to learn the beauty that lies in those scars. I want him to see the voids only love can create. But don’t worry, I would make him understand you. I would tell more about the restlessness ,ink had and how the paper wasn’t enough. I would tell him about your dreams and how I was just another step.
In the mean time I wish for you to see me, smiling and living without you in those stolen moments of yours. I don’t want you to see how much I have suffered. If you wish to come back, come n see how much you had mattered.
If you ever comeback,
I’ll be here waiting for you.
With Those voids and some wounds too.
But this time, I won’t let you
color my scars again; For,
You are the ink and You are not
supposed see the paper’s pain.
You’re not supposed to see the paper’s pain.
But you know! deep down I still crave for your touch. Tell me how am I supposed to forget someone who has made me what I am today!?Does the paper ever forgets the ink which craved it’s story as her identity!? Perhaps it dreams about all those moments and day dreams about the kisses. Perhaps it still wants the ink to see her smiling and fall for her all over again.
I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop. To a stop where there would be only you and me. To the time where you belonged to me, Where there would be no memories and there would be no dreams.To a stop where the parchment wouldn’t be needed to change, where the ink would only tale about the present. Where there would be no complain from the paper and the ink would not crave for more. Where the snapshots would be beautifully framed in black and white with no colors to fade and with no journey to be ended. I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of Time to a stop.
And sometimes I just want to move on. To be old , ratteled, withered and to be forgotten. You see, this heart , it never stays at a point. It knows it’s incomplete without you but still it always wants to prove that I’m better off without you. I have been here and I have been there but I have never been at somewhere I belong. This restlessness is not anxiety, neither is love . I can’t define it now. But I know someday it will going to define. Not your imprints on my soul , not the ink on the paper rather the experience we have had and the story we have waven is going to last till eternity and is going to define me.
Yes! The paper has never been blessed enough with the power to express of its own but it will tell stories that will definitely make people to think about the ink. And I might not be a mile stone in your journey but I will be that Cross road which will be the turning point of your journey. A book is nothing without the acknowledgement and you’re nothing without this lost part of yours. So, Here I’m waiting for you to succeed, so that when you come back and look at me I could say, no it’s not you but me.
From being it’s not me To it has always been me, I have came a far way! In the process of finding you,I have found myself. You’re going to matter me Everytime I breath, every time I die a l’ll but from now on I’m not going to let you define me. It’s my story and I’ll project it the way I want. I’ll not wait for you to come back . I’ll move on and with that the corners of pages will bent and began to fade away and so will the ink .