But your heart's a mess.

Its strange when people cut you off from their lives, abruptly or not so abruptly. A lot of times you incite them to do so, most of the times it is uncalled for. You think your relationship is flowing in just the right direction when you hit a huge, monstrous boulder and blah, the past seems like a sepia tinted photograph , the corners of which have been fed on, the color of which has almost vanished. You're living in a shell with a window that opens nowhere. You want to get back to them, laugh on the silliest things again, cry on the smallest squabbles again, give each other hi fives on the lamest jokes ever, fall for the weirdest people together. Together.

Pick apart

The pieces of your heart

And let me peer inside

Let me in
Where only your thoughts have been

Let me occupy your mind
As you do mine.

Yes, Gotye is glued to my mind. I have a strange connection with music and books. People don't move me all that much. Yes, characters in books do. They move me so so ridiculously that I feel like I've lost a friend when I finish an exemplary piece of literature. It could be Tariq from A Thousand Splendid Suns , Ashley Patterson from Tell me your dreams or even Severus Snape from the Harry Potter series. These characters add taste to my coffee, which my taste buds taste bland due to the incessant exposure maybe. They make me feel like I'm having a conversation with my favourite people. And music ? Don't even ask . Chris Martin could be worshiped, because he permanently glued Yellow, Clocks, Paradise, Violet Hill, Lost, Viva la vida to my brain. John Mayer, his voice rings and reiterates in my ears. His voice is soulful, and it also conceals a certain kind of sadness, guilt, misanthrope too maybe. It is a disease, the best disease, Mayerism, like a friend and I say. Gotye sings to me, "You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness" You can also get addicted to a certain, delirious joy. That's the joy music gives me.

Coming back to you. Yes, you. Its strange how disconnected we've grown. We talks for hours and hours. Skype is the place we've seriously "moved in" and yet I feel very strangely about us. You say I'm one a person you used to know, but then, nobody hangs on to people that they don't relate to for so long. Maybe we have something between us, something more than a bittersweet love-hate circle that starts from both our hearts and ends at our lips. Yes, we never talk about what we really feel about each other. Friends, lovers or nothing? Maybe somewhere you don't know either. Maybe both our hearts are a mess. Maybe we like being cluttered with too many feelings on one occasion, so that we can conceal from the world what we really, really want, what we really, really believe, what we really, really are trying hard not to reveal.

But then, when you try too hard to hide a secret, then is when it gets revealed to the world. Me? I am as broken as ever.

I'd smile on the surface, laugh too crazily, cry too miserably, put up a facade, but then you know it, somewhere deep down inside you. Its only a facade.

I hate every bit of me, I hate what I see in the mirror, and yet I don't want to improve it. You know why? It is called resignation, when you quit trying to make changes because you don't know what you really want to change. Then you try to put up a facade, a little too smartly.
Sometimes you choose between personalities. One day, you want to be clad in a blue, miserable, gloomy robe and hide inside it to not allow anyone to intrude thy privacy, other days you want to be a bohemian, all chirpy and vivacious, and perhaps somewhere to want to hide your sadness behind layers of glitter, gazillions of feigned smiles.
But then, maybe you are indeed somebody else and nobody at all. Who are you then, really? Nobody knows.