The Mystical Unicorn

people who've been married for any amount of time need to be showing us what love looks like they should be smiling at each other and laughing at each other's jokes not making jokes at each other's expense, they should hold hands and make beautiful homes full of pictures and paintings and candles, they should plant roses if they can - or cacti - they should share lives not rooms they should not  live their lives handcuffed to each other, skirting conversation and confrontation, running in circles from the truth of having missed out-of having sold out-of never searching-of it never having even been an option They should be celebrating their children's relationships, they should be rooting for their happiness, they should be ambassadors of the institution that claims it stands for love and mutual support but looks like systemic social content and tax breaks like quiet houses when the kids have left, like jokes about husbands installing Blue Whale in their wive

⚪ April 2018 It's been a tough few days, weeks, months, year(s?) since I found you and started losing you before I even had you I've gotten sicker and heavier and heavier and heavier and most days I can't tell sadness and gravity apart I've let bottles of cheap alcohol and boxes of menthol cigarettes come and go before I could let you go let us go Let me go you bitch  ⚪ February 2018 Do I miss you or the feelings? Fuzzy ones, warm ones, like my grey socks but not grey - actually, give me the grey I'd rather not feel anything at all than the deep and unrelenting sadness of being alive Figures, grey is your favorite color.  ⚪ March 2018 Why do I keep coming back to you like a stuck anchor? You're still my only point of reference I know nothing else and I can't progress, like driving 8030 km with the handbrake on- I made it, but does anything work anymore?  ⚪ January 2018 I'm still here in these grey sheets I bough

your love is a sweet vortex and I'm free falling out of reality I speak my honest lies As long as we can keep up the pretence your glitter laugh is my momentary truth sweet pirate-breath pixie You know how Disney songs have that mental scale change,  and chimes and birdsong and falling petals in the background? Mae sounds like that.  Like sparkly things. Like dust glinting in sunlight.  Looks like it, too - she's got this lotion with glitter in it, and it makes her smell like a bakery -  so when she's talking to you  or listening to your mundane, unimportant, decidedly drab stories with absolute, undivided attention,  leaning in, eyes wide, she looks edible . Like the perfect pastel cupcake of Disneyland dreams: beautifully put together, wrapped in fancy handcrafted paper, tied together with some nonsensically cute bow tiny hand-cut sugar stars and hearts sprinkled artfully over flawless  frosting Perfect structur

I bought jalebis from a mithai store today, a mithai store - not a roadside cart - because my mother feels it is safer this way. For six months after we came to India my mother boiled Aquaguard water so it would be safe enough for us to drink. For all of my life in Aurangabad - more than 12 years if we're counting my college vacations - my mother made pani puri at home from scratch so we wouldn't contract water-borne diseases. For all our years in India since my parents returned from dad's chemo my mother would wake us 25 minutes too early, even when sleep was more precious to her than it was to us, even though the school bus for 8:45 AM class came to our stop at 7:20 - which is no time to even be awake if you ask my sister - to feed us "real" breakfast in addition to an unnecessarily tall glass of milk before school, everyday, so she could give us enough fuel to last until recess and sustain our growing bodies through puberty. My mother made cream spinach

Let me hold you with my hands, fingers shaking, interlaced; let me hold you with my legs as a vice around your waist; let me hold you with my teeth, sunk - into your skin; let me hold you with my eyes, full of love, mad with sin. Let me wrap myself around you like a vine would on a tree; let me hold you in my arms as you sleep peacefully. Let me pin you to my bed, keep you still while I eat -  let me hold you with my mouth - restrain you - bodily. let me kiss you let me kiss you let me kiss you let me weep let me leave my trail of kisses from your stomach to your cheek let there be no space between us, not a breath, not an inch I will love you all my life so tonight please don't flinch hold my gaze, unwavering - as long as love, as long as time - tell me for ever more: "I am yours and you are mine" //we have 94 hours left together this year

Growing up, my personal experience with environment conservation efforts, coupled with acute egocentrism, led me to believe that everyone else had had my eco-conscious upbringing, that everyone had a biogas unit, a compost pit, saplings and a home garden, solar heating, rainwater harvesting, a waste segregation system, a laundry timetable and a reduce-reuse-recycle habit in their homes. Imagine my culture shock when I moved to C.L. Layout in Bangalore for my B.A. degree. Solar heating is a rarity, waste restriction and segregation were unheard of, and eating out daily is the norm. It is not as much a matter of negligence as it is of convenience. I took no time to develop these errant habits, and it showed – my room began to exist as a mess, my skin broke out in pimples, and my already delicate constitution was further endangered by takeaway McDonald’s and parcelled paneer rolls. I saved time. I saved money. I was always instantly gratified. I spent my days in a haze of environmentally