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  • mauve_ 47w

    Isn't it funny how we feel a physical ache somewhere in the tiny fisted heart whenever that silhouette of memories becomes the only art on our void canvas ?

  • mauve_ 50w

    And sadness is how it all rushes back from the dark pits of nostalgia. As fresh wounds on a worn out skin.


  • mauve_ 51w

    Still not here :")
    Just felt like writing this.
    Um..thank you @writersnetwork
    And everyone else. I really appreciate it :")

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    I need words.
    But I have none.
    Oh how I long to let it all out.
    The paper is heavily soaked in tears.
    The words, the misspelled misfits
    crave a closure to the journey they
    never got to make out of my mind.

    I need peace.
    But I have none.
    Oh how I long to run across a maize field.
    The fields are a mere nostalgia.
    Of the times carved in the glory of tiny bouts
    of glee, packed in the dawns and dusks
    and the memories within.

    I need faith.
    But I have none.
    Oh how I long to sow some seeds of belief on the soils watered by my beloved.
    The lands around me are devoid of lush. The sparrows don't chirp neither do children run into their mother's arms here. It's just the clouds and me. And the soils that my beloved gifted me. Parched with no dahilias.


  • mauve_ 67w

    Twin/ bro/ Jin bean/ aimee @jiniaa

    I mean I know you by so many names bro and such vivid are the different petals of your persona. Strong, funny, cheerful, intelligent, gosh such an awesome person you are ki I can fluently compliment you for days.
    I had asked you to teach me how to stop simping, you remember? The first time I had ever tried to break ice with anyone on mirakee. Before that, we had a light Maeve-aimee wala conversation. And honestly you seem like that goofy ball of light that brightens up the darkest room, while burning itself to combustion. You never fail to bring a smile on my face, tujhe pataa hai right? Your whatsapp status of memes is what relaxes my tense mind when I can't solve shit or study. And the thunders of obstacles that fall right onto you while you stand there in your cute purple jacket ( ima steal that I swear) and a yellow umbrella, the rains won't ever cease but you can always spot a rainbow when the sun shines simultaneously too. Your voice messages and that 1 hour phone conversation of ours is something I cherish so fucking much. You do know that you mean a hell lot for me, right? And you're a literal inspiration for me jab jee frightens me to death.
    Bruh, I don't know if I'm doing this birthday note thing greatly, but ima continue anyway.

    Your sweet sa voice is so damn soothing. Thank you so damn much for being that elder sister I never had, for imparting such precious pearls of advices that I adorn as a necklace I've treasured safely when I act totally ridiculous, which is basically too normal.

    There are a plethora of beautiful moments we've shared na? And a bunch of your cute pictures and mine horrid ones, heroine hai tu huh.

    This birthday, I wish you a lot of happiness. And peace. Mental peace.

    I wish that you wake up and your heart feels bliss while looking at the morning sun.
    I wish you listen to that bunch of your favorite songs and sing along in that melodious voice of yours.
    I wish for you to wear your favorite dress and dance out in rain while laughing out on the shit you went through in past.

    And good health. And tons of chocolates. I sound like a 70 year old nani, but nvm. I haven't written a word since weeks, par so couldn't write a pyara sa birthday poetry :")
    I've got so much to write about, so much to remember and smile and laugh about but boy, I think my words have died under a rock, anyway xD

    A very very happy birthday, twin.
    I love you so much.
    You deserve all the happiness in the universe.
    Bhuliyo mat, warna ima come beat you up.


    Ps. Not here.

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  • mauve_ 70w

    All I write these days is rants. Stupid rants.

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    When I start trusting people with the assembled stars that I loved embedding, the broken sky shows me why I shouldn't.

    When I start caring for people with all the blood that runs in my veins and pumps in my heart, the bloody knife hidden under my fuschia pillow as I see red dancing on the numb skin of mine, proves me why I shouldn't.

    When I start sharing smiles with people over a cup of cold coffee, the fading stains of tears and coffee over my favourite polka-dot frock verifies why I shouldn't.

    When I start pushing away all the fears I had, for people, dumping it in the blue car driving off the cliff, the seatbelt on me as I find myself sitting in the same car, tells me why I shouldn't.

    When I start loving people with all of my being, mind and soul, the dogs howling post midnight as if trying to blur away all the thunders of memories that rush up as acid on tongue, show me once again, why I shouldn't.


  • mauve_ 70w

    The art

    You walked in the white room to
    find me painted in violet bruises,
    and handed-down fabric.

    You named it art.

    You tried to blend in a plethora
    of shades that, according to you
    adorned the curves of my smile
    and glorified the silhouette of
    life in my eyes.

    The art breathed lively.

    You gazed at the beauty of
    the mess you made with those
    twinkling, admiring tears as the
    world burned the galleries outside,
    in the fires of tartarus.
    The flames were quicker than
    the dawned realization of fear and
    departure. I watched you burn while
    you waved me a goodbye that blurred
    to the mere smoke of grief.

    The art was left as the reminiscence of pain.


    Don't know what I'm writing these days. Don't mind
    Got deleted.

    Thank you for the editor's choice ♡

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    The art

  • mauve_ 71w

    One more cross mark on the calender,
    Two more playlists of pulsating music added,
    Three more trips down the memory lane,
    Four more bitter syrups of regret gulped down
    Five more lists of supposed resolutions made and tossed away,
    Six more genuine smiles of silken hope,
    Seven more pieces of dark chocolate as an incentive,
    Eight more clawings on the yellow smiley ball to reduce anxiety,
    Nine more stolen gazes of curiosity at the sun that rose and fell,
    Ten more words of gratitude to the day I survived again.



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  • mauve_ 71w

    5 min overcooked and burnt rant.

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    It's that day, today

    It's that day today, when
    I skip my visit to the terrace
    to bid adieu to the setting sun
    and the commencing choirs of
    the clouds, when I draw smiles
    on the the glasses with evening

    It's that day today, when
    I let the boiling milk of
    thoughts overflow from the
    utensil of mind and gaze
    adoringly at the running tap as
    one would look like while
    fawning over 'The Starry night'.

    It's that day today, when
    the music is a bit more than a few
    beats, a lot more of black film
    flashbacks that don't fade over
    ever with the sand falling down
    the hourglass of time.

    It's that day today, when
    I love the ugly side of my
    withering skin a bit more than
    the painted nails that bite my
    palms soothingly as I clench my
    fists to urge myself to end the
    day today and let the dreams


  • mauve_ 72w

    Rant overcooked in 5 min

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    P e n

    I lost my favourite pen today.
    The one I had stolen from a
    friend's overly sufficient pouch.
    Which made it more precious.
    But it was a trustworthy
    comrade I must say. Slight
    mauve in colour, it didn't wear
    out it's shade, no matter what,
    unlike the technical savvy
    chameleons I know.

    When I used to condense
    dark clouds of my rants and
    overthought thoughts on the
    Saharas of my diary,

    or probably when I drew the
    most disfigured and underrated
    art on the page margins or
    somewhere amongst the
    reprimanding formulaes and

    or when I took extra efforts to
    test my lessons of calligraphy
    while I penned a heartfelt letter
    addressing it to someone I loved
    but ended up signing it off as

    when I totally underlined half
    the text in the chapter with it just
    because the teacher decided to
    experiment with a teaching
    technique,a form of lullaby
    that had me daydreaming
    about cotton candies in summer
    fairs while riding a wheel with a
    melting ice cream and a proudly
    won stuffed toy,

    all I wished to express was
    that I miss it a lot, for its patience
    and for holding me up when
    I stupidly went for a trust fall.
    I might have carelessly left you
    under the collapsing bridges of
    books but nostalgia has risen up
    like a ripe rainbow after December


  • mauve_ 72w

    Don't know what this is.

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    The heart did a series of somersaults as it was beating faster than his venomous retorts to fate which was a lot to say. The dots and segments were all connecting now with a fragile line of explosive stardust, that somehow replicated the distorted art of Picasso.

    The weird collection of different smiles and vivid decibel-ed laughs of hers in the creaking box of memories that he kept safely hidden for the times he felt low,
    the November evenings, weaving a bunch of cotton sweaters of random talks about perspectives and bluffs, sitting on the chilling school's swings,
    the feathery brush of shoulders while exchanging classrooms for language lectures,
    the lasting stare prior to entering the bus on the day before the beginning of summer vacations that narrated a variety of haikus that reeked of some strange emotion.

    The needle of realization didn't do much until it penetrated a few layers of dead skin and actually pricked. Grasping love after falling out of it. Its sun had camouflaged in the ocean of twilight to never rise back.

    One ant of feelings escaped the anthill of heart and it suddenly felt so light or perhaps void.