Dear someone who used to be mine,

I had no idea about what to call you, so I called you this. Even though I question myself, if you were ever mine, but okay.

Firstly, how are you? Well, I hope. I want you to be well. I can’t be a prick, wishing for you to suffer the same as I did, and so genuinely, I wish you wellness and health.

Wondering why I’m writing to you, out of the blues? Well, you gave me a visit. No physically, but in my dreams. Yesterday night. I have no idea how, and such a complicated dream it was, but it wide opened the wounds I had bee trying to cover since so long. Not all to failure. I did succeed a number of times.

Yes, I “did”. Now, again, I’m vulnerable. With all the pains and wounds open for people to endeavor, and ask me about. Ask me about how long have I been vulnerable for. Ask me about how stupid I am to think you were there for me. And I will stand there, out of answers, and pain, and say nothing, but have their laughter and taunts, till they leave me, to have me crying. I’m just a shadow of the person I used to be, and I hope, you know.

I was doing so good for the first time ever since you left me. I was happy. I was laughing. I was living. I was loving. And then, this dream destroyed the world I had created after my previous world left. You.

I’m not saying it was your fault. You have no control over my dreams. But you know, this dream has me again on ground zero. I’m again afraid of people. Afraid of my own friends. I’m on the verge of a breakdown as I write this. I’ve lost my confidence yet again. I am questioning myself. My personality, the way I look. Everything. I’m questioning myself that if you left me wounded, because my personality wasn’t good enough. I’m questioning myself if you left me wounded, because I am not good looking. I’m questioning myself if you left me wounded, because I was too scared to let you go. I’m questioning myself if you left me wounded, because I was a bad influence. I’m questioning myself if you left me wounded, because I have anxiety and become too emotional when it comes to love.

I may never get those answers. And believe me, I don’t even expect it from you.

All I have now, again, are anxiety, depression, under confidence, doubts and, a broken hope, that you’d love me, again.

I don’t hope that you feel this. I don’t hope that you go through what I’m going through. I don’t hope that your world leaves you. I don’t hope that you become like me. Miserable. I don’t hope that you feel the pain I feel, but I do hope, that you know, I exist, even with the pain you gave me.

Someone who used to be yours.



Why Don’t I Want Anyone To Fall In Love With Me?

Not proofreading. More of a rant.

Why don’t I want anyone to fall in love with me?

This is something I’ve been thinking a lot about, and maybe that is why it is going to be like it is.

I’ve been told that I’m really good as a person, and that the girl I’ll love, or love will be, or is, very lucky, respectively. But do I think the same? I used to.

It makes me wonder, actually. If those girls were so lucky, why did they leave me? Wasn’t it love? Maybe it was, but they left me because of my flaws. Flaws that I didn’t know existed before they left.

I’m clingy. A big one. And that’s one. I can piss the shit out of someone just by bugging them all the time. I just need someone to tell me that I’m good at something, all the time maybe, and that is certainly a problem.

I go with the flow. Maybe that’s because of my age. But don’t get me wrong, I’m very loyal. But you know, I have my days when I feel off and I need someone. And that’s again when I become someone you wouldn’t like near you.

I’m not like other guys, you know. And that’s been a problem.

Fuck my face. I know I don’t look good, and to be honest, I don’t even care.

And the last point, I become a worse writer when I’m in love. I’m all about heartbreaks in writing, and when I’m in love, I suck at writing about that. And so, the only thing I consider myself good at, dies out when the most beautiful thing touches me. Maybe, I’m meant to be unloved.

And so, I don’t want anyone to fall in love with me. Don’t want to ruin another life because of me. Can’t carry that burden for the rest of my life. -SCAS.

There Was A Time When I Used To Love.

There was a time when I used to love.

When I felt it in my heart,
That love exists.
That feelings, exist.

When I would see people caring,
For each other.
Unconditionally, wanting nothing in return.

There was a time when I used to love.

When the winters used to gaze upon us,
And I would see two people in the same coat.
Sharing the warmth of affection.

When the summers would wreck havoc upon us,
And sweat made our faces weary.
But then, love was more than faces.

There was a time when I used to love.

When the rains would descend upon us,
Under a single umbrella,
Chirped the love birds.

When the dryness would seep upon us,
Weakening the leaves,
But not the love.

There was a time when I used to love.

When love would stand,
Along all these seasons,
Unlike now.

When I believed in people,
With my life and theirs,
Unlike now.

There was a time when I used to love.

When I saw myself living,
Past the age of twenty five.
Unlike now.

When I would cry for people,
And ask them for their forgiveness.
Unlike now.

There was a time when I used to love.

When I would wait for people to come back,
And love me the way I loved them.
Unlike now.

When I used to think,
That I will have an happy ending,
Unlike now.

There was a time when I used to love.

When I used to think,
That there’s someone made exclusively for me.
Unlike now.

When I used to think,
That love is my cup of tea.
But I prefer coffee now.

Oh, there was a time when I used to love.



Today, I wonder.
I wonder why those people, who were in my circle, chose to leave me. Am I actually that bad, or do I lack something?
Ever since, we’re little, we’re bound to make friends. Not in my case though. I made more acquaintances, than actual people whom I may call “friends”.
I find the term vague. Most people call anyone they just met, a friend of theirs, even though the reality lies far away from that.
I call someone a friend, when I’m quite sure that this person would take a bullet for me. And maybe, that’s where I go wrong.
Or maybe I just lack something. Maybe, it’s not their fault, but my own. Maybe I’m not a type of person people would like to stick to.

I think it’s time to shorten my circle, if it even exists, and I’m not kicked out of it myself.

I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t be friends with myself either.


(Not proofreading and shit. This is something that just hit me)

Trying To Find A Reason To Live

To the girl I love,

How are you? Well, I hope. It’s Diwali, and I know how much you like it. Last year, at this moment, we were sitting together in the park, looking towards the sky, and enjoying the lights and sounds. But now things have changed, we have changed.

I remember, I’d lay my head down onto your lap, and you’d play with my hair, giving me goosebumps, and whenever it was least expected, we’d share a kiss. You’d lean on to me, or I’d rise up to you. We thought it was the real moment, and we were to be together always. It was the moment, but the latter, proved to be wrong.

You looked really pretty in the dress you wearing. A perfect mixture of elegance and sexiness. I remember, I’d see your face from down in your lap, and wonder, what is there about this girl, and I remember at that exact moment, you’d look down on me, and smile. And that made me realize what it was about you that made me go crazy. It was your innocence, that gleamed through your eyes. It was your love, that seeped out through the kisses we shared. And it was the care you showed, that your smile immortalized. It was you, who made me complete. It was you, who made me feel my luck. It was you, who was the person I wanted to live for.

And then came the rough part. Fights, and distance came between us. I was the one to blame, I take it all. I got insecure, and in the end, we parted ways. I laughed it out when we were parting ways, on how amazing best friends we’d be, even though I was dying to cry, and I know, so were you. I could see it in your eyes.

We both tried to be friends. We tried our best. And failed. Being friends after a relationship isn’t that easy, and we learnt it the hard way. Our chats grew shorter, before terminating all together. And that was it.

I saw your Instagram story today. You’re looking beautiful in the red gown you’re wearing. And so is the guy next to you. I hope you guys make it through, unlike us.

What about me? If you ask, I’d be here. Trying to find solace in this world. Trying to find someone like you, for me. Trying to find a reason not to survive, but live.

Would feel the goosebumps to call myself yours,
The guy who loves.




It’s festive season here in India, and everyone is going home. Home not as in house, though. Home can be a person, or a family. Everyone has a different perspective and perception, but I don’t seem to know about mine? What and where is my home?

As I’m writing this, I’m sitting on the roof of my gramps house in Lucknow. I certainly cannot call this place home, ’cause I cannot feel like that here, no offense to anyone here. But this certainly isn’t my place.

My main house, in Delhi. Yes, I’m a Delhiite for people who didn’t know. My main house used to be my home, but is it now? I’m not sure, to be very honest. I have loving parents, but I don’t get to see them for months, and that pulls out the aura of “Home”, from the house as well as them. I love them to the extreme, but I don’t seem to get my head around the fact, that they’re not home anymore. Delhi, isn’t home anymore.

More people I used to call home, aren’t home anymore. I cannot pin point even a single person now that I can say, that yes, this person is my home. I’ve secluded myself to the level, where I cannot segregate the world and the people I love. I’m not sure if I’m even capable of loving. No one seems care about me, and I don’t feel the same for anyone. I’ve become numb. My feelings for everyone, are long gone.

I don’t know where my home is. Maybe I’m in the pursuit of finding my home. Or maybe, I’m my home.


Ranting #8

Let’s talk. Shall we?

This is how I talk to people now. I’ve become a loner, and I couldn’t be more proud. I don’t know why, but people criticize being lonely as if it’s a disease. For me, it’s not. And it shouldn’t be.

I’m not dependent on anyone, and people can’t use me for their advantage. I remain secluded, in the background, and that’s fine by me. I do work, though. But rarely in the limelight. It’s glary for me, and I’m trying to be a dark soul. So it sucks the darkness inside of me. Does that mean I get appreciation? Nope. Do I care? Nope. I like to work, because of my work ethic, and my ethic to complete anything that I start. That’s the only thing that makes me do stuff, not the materialistic or moralistic appreciation. And because of this, some might think I’m fake, but again, do I care?

Being in my hostel room, alone, with the lights off, and just lying on my bed is the favorite past time I have. No one, or nothing bothers me. It’s just me, silence, and darkness. The three friends, meeting everyday now. That’s how college should be. Shouldn’t it? Being and chilling with your friends?

Sometimes coffee comes to join, ’cause I give bad vibes to alcohol. It was egoistic, and I couldn’t stand it. But coffee, it’s sweet, and cute, and it doesn’t question my insomnia. That’s the best thing bout my friends. They don’t question what I do. You might say, that those are signs of a bad friend, but again, aren’t we all? At least, they’re not toxic.

So do you mind, talking to me in darkness, silence, and with a cup of coffee? Do you mind joining my friend circle? I don’t have much to offer, but I have cookies to share. 🙂


Ranting #7

I don’t know why I’m writing this, but it’s a rant, so yeah. Here it goes.

Hi everyone. Been quite long since I wrote, so pardon my grammar, and my thoughts. I’m in a weird situation right now, where I cannot distinguish between what I’m feeling and what I need? Is it normal? I hope it is. At least, I’d be normal in some way, finally.

I thought leaving school would open new gates of opportunities for me, and which it certainly did. I gave my first spoken poetry thingy, started actual content writing, and started doing more creative work, like craft, at which girls who did my project since grade eight would laugh at, but yes, I’m trying and doing it to the best of my abilities.

But even after this, I feel a hole inside of me. Some might say, it’s because of the lack of love in my life, which is completely and utterly wrong. I’m maybe the most loved person you’ve met. I have very very loving parents who have an exceptionally great marriage, I have people I can actually call my own, I have you, my reader, to hear what I want to say. What do I need more, to what you consider love?

If you mean lady love, then yes, it’s absent, at the moment. But do I care? Maybe, a little. There are nights where I cry myself to sleep, thinking about what I did wrong, and what could’ve happened if things would’ve went the way I wanted them to. But alas, I have no control over that. I wish I did though, everyone does. But do I need a “girlfriend” right now? I think, I don’t. I’m happy. Being lonely, being with my headphones, being with my songs, being with my phone, being with my words. And if you know me in college, you now know the reason why I always have my headphones on, and why I walk alone.

“Girlfriend” or “Relationship” are some terms I find weird. I’d rather have a girl with whom I can share everything, and anything, than a girl just to hug or kiss. PDA is good, no doubt bout that, and I do feel the crave to do it, but I can control my hormones, rather than pretend to give my heart to every girl I see. Not a pretender, you see. Can’t pretend to love, or be loved. Can’t pretend to be happy, all the time.


Robots And Humans

“Robot school, or human?”,

My wife asked.

It had been a tough question,

Since the start.

Ever since automation made its way,

Humans were left far behind.

And so did the choices of school,

To which, teeth I grind.

Which school my son should go to?

A school where I went.

Where teachers threw assignments on us,

And sweat was the only scent.

Or a robot school?

Where he’d be taught things I was never.

And which will help him reach heights,

I would not ever.

Robot schools have robots as teachers,

And hence, he won’t be excused.

He’d learn from cooking,

To fixing a bulb fused.

No lies, or cheats,

Would be entertained.

You’ll have to learn eventually,

But would that be knowledge gained.

Number of pros of robot school,

Is far greater than human one.

But just one con,

Has me thinking some.

Aren’t humans about emotions,

And aren’t robots about work?

And making everything automated,

Wouldn’t energy and zeal to work, be sucked?

Do I wish to give my society,

Another cyborg in my son?

Or has the damage,

Been already done?

No number of robot,

Can give my son what a human can.

And same goes for the society,

Knowing, robots were created by man.

We have emotions,

We love,

We hate,

We care,

We mate.

Can a robot do that?

I have decided,

My son will learn from a man.

Emotions and experiences give far superior,

Than what a textbook, or programming can.