Friday, June 1, 2012

Rolling in the sand and other fun things.

So, all I am saying is, that I want to be a lovable person. And not just to my mom or the mildly bothersome acquaintance who keeps flirting with me and wondering if this perfectly innocent marshmallow will go out with him for coffee. 
I want to be lovable for myself. Secretly, also for you. I know I once was, and I know I destroyed it. I also know that you still haven't taken me down from that sickening pedestal you put me on. I am still standing there in your memories- An epitome of perfection.

Can't you see that all I wanted to do was goof around with you and spill sauce down my shirt and then crib about it? Or not finish work on time and run to you in panic at the last moment? Or wake up one day and go to a place where I've never gone, even if it is far and makes me tired? 
Perfect people don't do that. Perfect people plan things, and then get them right. BAM! Ridiculously foolish people do all the things I was dying to do. 

And I feel ridiculously foolish today. I feel selfish. 
Maybe I was made this way? Maybe the higher being designed me this way, so it's not really my fault in the end that I ran away from that pedestal. 
Please tell me that I was not just a selfish person who wanted to have fun. Because that is all I hear at night. All those voices are your friends. They feel bad for us. They berate me. They don't let me fall asleep too quick, or eat guilt free at that restaurant you loved so much; Yesterday, I told my friend it has the most terrible food in the city, to avoid going there. I can still remember the delicious taste though.
The voices look down upon me when I laugh. A few days ago, I wanted to lie down in the sand. I know you hated it. But I lied down that day and loved it. I looked at the sky and laughed till I had tears in my eyes. I played with it till I lost all sense of decorum. And then, the voices looked down upon me. Like a conservative parent would look down upon their drunk child, and I felt ashamed. I got up, dusted myself and left. I came back home and cried. 

I wish I was made differently. Because I really did love you. I wish I could be patient and rational, so that I would fit on to the pedestal you had built for me and not shame you with my stupidity. I know you sat with me in my fits of absurd crying, attempting to make sense of it all. I know you tried a lot. I wish I had lesser opinions. 
But I had to choose between loving you and loving myself, and I chose myself.
Does that make me selfish? 

I met you the other day and you looked so dull. It killed me.
I always wanted to be able to look into the mirror and love myself. And that very thing, I now cannot do.