There is a sudden charm in the idea of being invisible. I have thought endlessly about being invisible. Maybe, just for a day. I would get up earlier than my usual time. See him sipping tea in his balcony on a wintery morning. Watch him watching this new movie. See him upset, when he doesn't get a parking spot on a lazy day. I would follow him like rivers. And he wouldn't even know that I have already walked past his house 5 times in this past week. I wasn't invisible then. But, I guess I have been invisible to him all along.

I am tired of being an empty shell that you find beautiful & eccentric.
I am tired of being a trope made by authors and directors.
I am like war and peace and not like a tissue paper you made me out to be.
I am tired of being your favourite shade of red.
I am tired of being a brush stroke, when I am the entire painting.
I am tired of being pinned to a pedestal.
I am tired of my existence and my name being relative.
I am tired of being a zany sidekick to the male protagonist in the movie that is my life.
I am tired of you thinking that I need help stilling the edges of my narrative, who longs for a tether or a buoy to keep her from flying off or sinking down.
I am tired of being told – unconventional, different and other such synonyms by boys, that I am not like other girls as if they are a disease and I am magic.
I am tired to be known as someone with wacky quirks and idiosyncrasies.
I am tired of being Alaska Young.
I am tired of being Sam from The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
I am tired of being Tiffany from The Silver Linings Playbook.
I am tired of being tagged as Sam from Garden State.
Or even Marla Singer from Fight Club.
Or even an Amelie or Penny from Almost Famous.
And every Zooey Deschanel character.
I am a Clementine.
I’m a Sylvia Plath.
I’m a Dorothy Parker.
A Maya and a Margaret.
You see, I am well versed
in death and in silence.
I have my interests and I am like all of the above. But I am “like” them. I am not them.
I am me.
I am scared now.
Scared of boys claiming to be wrapped in barbed wire
but is really a caged petting animal in the zoo.
I am tired of boys who thinks romance is a Hemingway novel.
But, most importantly I am tired.
Tired of men not falling in love with me
but instead falling in love with the idea of me.

Nomoreokaythankyouplease.

Dense fog.
Loveless clouds.
Blacks and Greys.
Barks of hounds.

Desolate streets.
Footsteps indiscreet.
Frosty skin.
Icy stares.
Chilly silence, and
nippy air.

I add layer
upon layer.

Of prayer
upon prayer.

and wait for the shivers to begin.
For I have seen colder weather.

We talk.
We share.
Our words.
In thinner air.
I walk the talk.
You talk the talk &
Don't walk the walk.
In the end I am,
still happy
with our
small
talks.