An Awkward Collection Of Poems About Death #3


The thing about loss
Is that it didn’t hit me
When it happened.
I didn’t feel loss.
Not when I got the call.
Not when I attended our last party together
Everyone wearing black.
Her favourite colour.
Not when there were two bodies
and only one person
that last time I saw her.
No, I didn’t feel loss.
I felt everyone else’s loss
And made it my own.
A vacancy inside me
Filled with pain
not of my own doing.
And that made it worse.

It was three days later
I was checking my phone
And I didn’t see her name
Pop up at the crank of dawn.
She wasn’t on my recents
Only recently passed.
The vacancy started to fill up
With the deafening sound of absence.

A week later I was at a book store
I found a book with chapters named
Only in odd numbers.
She was an odd little one.
She would have liked it.
I almost bought the book for her.

Thirty one days later
That movie she wanted to see
Came out.
I went alone.

It’s just one never-ending monotone.
Sometimes you forget she’s gone.
She’s still there, you know.
Writing, eating, breathing.
Am I lying to myself or is time lying to me?
And my ears pick up the monotone again.
A frustration.
Of so much to say
But when you turn the recorder on
You realise you have nothing to record.
Succumb to the monotone.

A year and a half later
I shift to a new city
Unloading the pieces of my life.
I find a stone.
Our hike up the mountain.
When she told me
She’d move mountains for me.
And suddenly I feel selfish.
Because I had not thought of her
For a year.

The vacancy never really gets filled.
The pain just numbs until
You trick yourself into believing
You are as you were.
Without loss.
With nothing to find.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop looking.


If we will die while the night grows dark,
We will both pass away happy.
We will be safe and cozy,
Waiting, just you and me.

I can see the warmth smoking off your skin.
I can feel your sweet smile.
Our shadows become one,
As we watch them intertwine.

Your arms are my secret haven,
And I know you will remember me,
When oblivion and ashes,
Become our stark reality.

But don’t worry, love! And I, you.
I will not regret nor forget.
Even as the flames dance dangerously,
Close to where we rest.

Pull me closer; we are one.
Nor burning hell, nor calming heaven,
Can do us any harm.
Hold me as we watch out life go by,
In flames, for the last time.

Boy A

(Reader discretion: This is fiction inspired by a person. But mostly fiction. Please respect this.)

I’m distracted. Even when I try to study, which I’m actually supposed to be doing, my thoughts keep floating back to him.

I don’t know him. I mean, I don’t think I’d be able to recognise him if I saw him on the street. But somehow I feel really comfortable around him. He’s a year older, not that it should make a difference. But he’s so… Relatable. He understands my weird obsessions with TV shows and books, because he obsesses over them too. A diamond in a dirty mine.

We have been in constant conversation for the past 3 months now, via a social media site. But we have actually met in real life though. It was at some inter school event that I frankly, really hated. I didn’t pay much attention to him in the beginning. He was really annoying but also kind of cute and innocent. I guess I didn’t give him a second look because I spent the majority of the time cursing everybody in the room.
If you hadn’t realised it by now, that event was one of the worst experiences of my life. But that’s a story for another time.

He seemed really ordinary with no really distinctive features. It’s only after hearing gloriously fantastical stories about him in the bus rides back home when I began to wonder if he was really more than what meets the eye.

And then he met my eye.

He won something at that event. I can’t remember what, but it was a big thing. I remember watching him walk up to the stage like he owned it, while the crowd cheered a LOT. It was only then that I realised that this ordinary looking boy was one of the ‘popular kids’. Oh damn, you should have seen how fast my bitch mode switched on.

He came back with us in our bus. I watched form the corner as he was the centre of attention, everybody recalling crazy incidents involving alcohol, the police and of course, him.

Weeks passed. It was the day before the Sherlock season 3 premier that I acknowledged him again. He posted something super fangirlish and I had to immediately state my opinions as a proud fangirl myself.

And when (as usual) the nail biting cliffhanger ripped all feeling out of me, he seemed to be the only person in the world that would understand the frustrating agony of a Sherlock cliffhanger.

Soon, as we talked, I realised that he wasn’t only passionate about my favourite tv show, but also my favourite books, music and movies. Mind you, the above mentioned things have played an instrumental part of my life. They are my bible.

I must point out here that our conversations have an underlying element of continuity, but aren’t necessarily punctual. For example, we started a conversation 3 months ago. And none of us have actually said ‘bye’ or hi’. The conversation just continues. And we reply when we are free to. That maybe the next day, or a week after that. But the conversation goes on.

So, from what I understand, we don’t have a schedule which we follow to chat. And we chat about the most random things. We have no obligation towards each other. But as the days go by, and other relationships falter, I am beginning to wonder if there is something obligatory in our relationship.

Last night he told me about his life for the first time. And I told him about mine. That was the first time we had a personal conversation. And I felt something.

Maybe I should feel something more often.

…. To be continued…