I Confess, I Cheated

Do you know what it's like to cheat on someone? Someone you love very much? Someone who has done so much for you, someone who's presence is why you still exist and have some pride in yourself, some self-worth?
One day, everything seems perfect, like you have everything you'll ever need from anyone and the next, you have slipped on the (w)hoary edges and fallen into the icy depths of faithlessness. 


You know it's wrong and the first few times you even try to stop. The guilt eats into your very soul invading your every thought, every action. You can't stop thinking about all the good times you have had, the kind gestures, the joy and the comfort of just having someone to call your own. You can't stop evaluating if it's worth it, if it's worth giving all that up for a few moments of pure pleasure. But once you start, you can't but go on until thoughts cease to exist and only ecstasy prevails. 


But they say, acceptance is the first step to cure. 
I confess, I cheated.


I am married to Words and I cheated. 


It was just one time, one action. I had even forgotten the Pinterest password. I did not even have an account on Instagram or weheartit. I pooh-poohed their advances and used them for my convenience. I used them all to make Words happy. I made Words meet them too, in hope that every time I feel like slipping, I will remember the scene of both of them together and be assured of who was better. 


But alas, they did catch up with me; they lured me in with the indescribable beauty they radiate, a beauty that the secret, crappy photographer in me lusted after. They made me their unchained slave, they brought me to my knees and do their bidding without so much as a bad internet connection... so much as 300 repins in a day. I became a junkie, I was out of control. Looking at beautiful photos from all over the world, funny quotes and out-of-this-world food porn till my battery drained out. No amount of control could stop me from getting out of bed without atleast 20 repins from Pinterest. I craved for Instagram's attention; I started taking pictures like a maniac on weed, JUST to impress her. I even pinned and hearted at the same time. 


Words never said a word. I'm sure he knew, which only made it worse. Slowly, I started making excuses to Words. I said, "I am busy with assignments, I need time to sort things out." Then I started outright lying, "I don't like your new interface, there is a general lull, none of my friends are here anyway." He still never said anything. Every time I opened Blogger, I felt the acidic guilt and the painful sadness of a relationship once cherished. And every time I turned away and went back, coward that I was.


Today, I scrolled down my baby with no intention of posting anything, when the archives' count caught my attention and screamed out at me all the abuses that Words refused to say to me. Words always kept faith in my love, never asked for anything in return. And somehow, like a bolt of lightning, sense prevailed while I realized where my true loyalties lie.


I might slip, I might fall. 
I might even go several miles on the wrong path. 
But I will always come back to you, my love.
For I'm married to you.
And I married you for a reason.


I'm sorry for all the hurt.
I promise to write and make it go away.
I promise to make it up to you any way I need to.
For I know you deserve much better.


I love you, Words.
Always did. Always will.


P.S: This was whimsical, to say the least :D
P.P.S: I know a picture says a 1000 words but without those words how does the picture intend to convey it's beauty to all and sundry? I became a picture junkie for a while but now I'm back where I belong :)
P.P.S.S: This is one way of making it up to Words, not using any pictures for the post :P

Fairy Dust And Pots Of Gold

I never believed in fairy tales. I loved them but I never believed in them.

I never believed that Rapunzel’s hair could grow that long, that Snow White’s father never knew or suspected what was going on. I never believed that Hansel and Gretel found a whole house made of chocolate. I never once had a doubt as to whether the frog really turned into a Prince. In fact, I never did believe in Prince Charming.

I never believed that snow came down from the Heavens, that it rains when the Gods cry. I never believed that my painfully pulled out tooth would be replaced with a coin by the tooth fairy under my pillow. I never believed in the horse-shoe or the three-leaved clover and though I love the very thought of them, I always knew fairies, pixies and unicorns are make-believe. And mostly I knew Ram and Ravan never deserved all the diyas because they are the Ying and the Yang. I knew that the footprints in rice flour was not Lakshmi. I knew Ganpati never did dissolve properly and come back again the next year.

I knew the Witches of Oz couldn’t harm Dorothy, I knew that Tinker Bell was safe with Peter Pan. I never looked under my bed for goblins; if I was scared, it was always for the human psycho-killer. I always enjoyed The Hound of the Baskervilles a tad more than the regular twelve year old.

I knew God wasn’t Krishna or Jesus or Allah. I knew God was just Him, a chilled out dude who loved nagging us from deep within. A conscience, some would call it. I knew temples were calming but nothing more, the church was peaceful but that’s about it.

I worshipped Harry Potter, stayed up whole nights with the three of them and spent days wishing I’d get my Letter. But I always knew that Hogwarts was the place I’d escape to when things got tough in my reality. Galleons hold no value and Butterbeer would only slip down warmly to my stomach in my imagination. No wand would pick me, I wouldn’t have to wait to have my first sip of Firewhisky and I couldn’t give Fred and George bear hugs for bringing laughter into my board exams. Because I accepted the simple fact that Rowling has a phenomenal imagination.

Santa Claus was always fictitious; I knew it was Mum bought the presents under the Christmas tree. Even when I was three. I remember eating his cookies and thinking that it would be good if he went on a diet.

I was, am, a skeptic. I try hard not to be, try to love life and all it has to offer but deep inside skeptic is who I am. I know it’s all a façade man creates to find happiness, to escape into a place where things are not as tough as in his regular life.

But if they are all untrue, if they all are imaginings, if they are nothing more than extensions of wispy dreams, why are fairy lights irresistible, why is the Christmas tree magnificent, why are the carols so soothing, why do I put up with cold feet and nose just to put up my stockings? Why do I continue to delude myself?

Why is it all so magical even when I know magic doesn’t exist?

Merry Christmas, everyone :)