Of Dreams, And Foolishness

She was crazy. She was normal. She was a little dreamy, and very practical. She was very loving, and hated very strongly. She was very generous, and could be very selfish.
She was a dream. She was his dream. She was the strangest, rarest of women. He'd never met anyone quite like her. She could bare her teeth in anger, and scare people into giving her what she wanted. And yet, she had but, to smile, and she'd charm them, into getting her own way.
She was rude, cutting through people's weaknesses. She was warm, making people feel better about themselves. She was his dream.
She had dark, bright eyes, that gleamed with a temper. Those same eyes, could crinkle up, and blaze love.
A dream. Unattainable, always just out of reach. She was the dream, that never goes away, tantalizes, torments, with its foggy memories.
But she was real. So very real. And so human. With human weaknesses, and human failings. She crumpled under pressure, but was as strong as required, when the ones she loved needed her.
So he dreamed. Dreamed of his dream. And as dreams oft do, made him believe she was his.
Wispy memories. From dreams of last night. She lingers on, somewhere, in the recesses of his mind.


Strangely dreamy,
Cynical Romantic,
(:

'Bhatt, Be Chai Aap!'

Its an unnaturally cold evening. We're sitting side by side, smoking, drinking गरम चाय , wondering what we're doing with our lives. Two insignificant people, in a big city.

You're thinking of all you lost, and how you messed up. I'm thinking of the future, of the challenges I will face, and the tears I will shed and the bridges I will burn.
Chaotic, is the only way to explain our thoughts. Yet, together we look comfortable, happy even. No one notices us, cocooned as we are from the world. Two quiet people in a fast paced city.
Together, we feel fine. I'm your light. Even in the cold, I'm your warmth. When you think of me, you say you think of fire.
 For me, you're, like lying down after a long hard day, and feeling each muscle relax. You're my comfort. That boy, lost in thought, the ever present cigarette, burning red in the dark, the चाय का  cup, with steam rising up. Despite the worries, and the burdens on our young shoulders, I'm  happy.

The cold winter breeze, the smell of smoke, the rickshaws passing by, and the people rushing by. We register everything, and nothing. When we kiss, its like coming home. Something falls in place. When I'll think of you, I'll always remember the Marlboro Hards, and the mint on your breath, and the crazy life we led, and the peace we found instead.

Always,
The Cynical Romantic,
(: