Can't stop

I can't stop.

I can't pause.

And no, I cannot catch a break.

I'm addicted to fluidity.

I'm addicted to the pace.

I hate change. But I can't do without it.

Monotony is suffocating.

Decisions are emotional and quick.

You always know what your heart wants.

I like black. I like white better. Gray areas don't exist. They are constructed to hide.

I like being blunt. I'm honest.

I'm not going to beat about the bush. I don't lie.

It may hurt. But it's better that way.

I'm either the bff. Or I don't give a damn.

I would love to death. Or I wouldn't care if they live or die.

It's always about the speed.

I can handle it.

I can't stop.

I can't pause.

And no, I cannot catch a break.

Hickey

I wake up at six,

finding you sleeping next to me, I give you a kiss.

You acknowledge the gesture,

and kiss the air,

before rolling over

and going back to sleep on your rear.

In front of the mirror,

I look at the scars,

Scattered around my neck,

Like a negative of the night stars.

It’s a wednesday,

We have to go to work,

got drunk anyway,

we’re quite a piece of work.

I choose a shirt,

that puts my neck as if on display,

as clear as the ash from the cigarettes,

in a white ash-tray.

And as I color my lips red,

I take a final glance,

at the marks from last night,

a sign of passionate romance.

I peck you once more before I leave

and give you a red mark of my own,

which you will realize only later,

once you’ve already hit the road.

They look at my scars,

with futile attempts to hide their surprise,

On the way to work and at it

I’m used to their eyes.

For every stare,

I can only blush

and think back at that 3AM rush.

I proudly walk along,

not quite giving a damn,

Still smelling of you,

still smelling of us,

still smelling of sex,

And those hickies on my neck.

Slow down you crazy child

Dream away, dream away, dream away they say,

And to stay grounded, they ask,

Are not the expectations high?

But why?

Taking flight is easy,

Stick your hand out of a car window,

You’ll know.

Easy to fly, Easy to fall,

Time flies when you’re having fun.

No wonder life has time

to flash by your eyes.

Get a grip,

take it easy,

there’s plenty of time,

if you can hold it in.

An Obsolete Culture

With the times being accused of modernization, there is a lot of talk about not forgetting our roots and staying true to our culture. A culture that has been dictating to us for centuries about our diets, our relationships, our relationships and our rights. Even today, my grandfather asks me about the caste and the religion of a person every time I mention the name of a friend. There are also a number of friends and acquaintances who have not been able to marry their boyfriends/girlfriends owing to community differences. A number of people who wouldn't dare to eat an egg in front of their families are expert cooks of B.L.Ts and Spaghetti with Meatballs. And another whole sample set who have the best taste in cocktails, beer or wine and food pairings and are the assigned bartenders for every house party I attend, but have to clean their house spotless and devoid of any empty bottles when their families come to visit.

The pressure subjected by 'staying true to our culture' is essentially demanding people to live double lives, instigating violence, and birthing not just distrust but hate.
We might even say that culture has reached a point when it outweighs its pros with its cons.
We live in an age where intellect and common sense is taking a back seat while radical bigotry roams freely on the streets under the pretext of protecting our culture.  There have been multiple instances of threat and killings under the same pretext as well.

The prerogative for humans to engage in activities which can be remotely routed back to "culture" often comes at the cost of relationships and decides the extent to which one would be accepted in the society. The other day, I overheard someone say that a man on drugs is more acceptable in the society than a woman who is a cigarette smoker. These cultures don't just vary across religions and countries, but across cities barely a few hundred kilometers away which seems rather ludicrous in the age of multimedia and lo' and behold, the internet.

The "culture" gives rise to sexism, bigotry, casteism, violence, and a whole list of criminal activities  otherwise, including but not limited to honor killing.
This said, there's always a whole new argument about governance and the law protecting perpetrators of said crime. In the above statement, we are referring to the same government which makes its laws based on popular vote rather than actually thinking about what's right or wrong.
Honor killing is a crime but marital rape isn't recognized. Vilification of men under the accusation of rape is instant without investigation and paternal leaves are rare. And this doesn't even cover the recent activities of radical killings and the spree of bans which is nothing but an indicative of intolerance; all under the excuse of protecting our culture.

The government since independence has spoken about the upliftment of minorities. There is a clarification required here. Which minorities are being referred to? Caste based? Religion based? Why are we limited to these though? What about the minorities of thought? Being minorities, shouldn't they be uplifted rather than targeted.

And as I said before, we may have very well reached a point where the very idea of culture outweighs its pros with its cons. And when an institution as such becomes harmful rather than useful, it should be done away with.

Incapable of Love

Disclaimer: I'm not married. And I've dated a few people. And I have been considering the option of an arranged marriage. And I have a lot of friends who fall into almost every case mentioned below. So judge now, and then continue reading.

We want lightening internet, faster food, quicker results and prompt service. We are aware that there is so much to do that we haven't done, and we're aware of the short 24 hours that we have. Our spoilt habits of instant gratification, multi-tasking and growing ambitions keeps us dissatisfied and always hungry for more; applicable not just to our daily tasks but to our relationships as well.

While the world is crazy about dating and finding 'love', the number of people opting for arranged marriages is also increasing, evidenced by the fact that the matrimonial match-making business is increasingly thriving. Contradiction alert! I read an article recently: 10 Reasons why this generation is losing the ability to be in love.

1. We care more about instant gratification than we do anything else.
2. We've built a culture driven by drugs and booze.
3. We sleep around – a lot!
4. We're becoming even more egocentric.
5. We date for the sake of dating.
6. We aren't fans of making compromises.
7. We believe in fairytale endings.
8. We've been fooled into believing perfection is attainable.
9. We're goal driven, but often forget to include our partners in the mix.
10. Most of us are really bad at loving.

So, in a nutshell, we can't find love because we're looking for the perfect person without making the investment of time and compromises. Hence we fall back on the option of arranged marriages so that we don't have to die alone. But if we're not willing to make compromises with love, why would we be willing to make compromises with a married partner? The answer is that we probably won't! The excitement and butterflies-in-my-tummy feeling always dies out eventually. The difference is whether it will die out while you're still dating someone or once you are married to someone. In some magical circumstances, even after the initial charm has worn out, the bond still exists. In case of dating, if the families agree, they'd get married. In case of marriages, well, the families have already agreed. So everything is hunky-dory. But what about all the other cases when the charm has died out and there's no bond in sight?

We're looking at a lot of break ups and increasing number of divorces. Break up in a span of months. And divorces in under 5 years (only because you have to try to make the marriage work owing to social obligations). You have 'just friends', 'friends with benefits', 'friends after breaking up', 'just dating not serious', 'in a relationship on Facebook but haven't said I love you', and 'about to call it off' as though it was a spontaneous holiday you've decided against because you're too sleepy that morning. Then you have 'trial separations', 'distance marriages', 'open marriages', 'annulments' and 'divorces'.

In the next decade , there are going to be a lot of 25-37 year olds bouncing around looking for stability wondering where they went wrong; some already with kids and some paying alimony; and some who's dating record will resemble Phoebe's and some with 3 divorces under their belts like Ross. Some like Charlotte saying "I've been dating since I was fifteen. I'm exhausted. Where is he?" And some like Barney who'll finally realize that he wants what Marshall and Lily have.

But like every situation, this has it's pros and cons. You know how after a bad break-up, all you want is your friends and family to fall back on? How they're always there for you despite watching you make the same mistake over and over? How they're fed up of you being stupid but love you for and despite all of it? Every messed up relationship only takes you closer to them. And there's nothing that a " 'I love you guys!', and 'Awww, we love you too!' after a few tequila shots" or a " 'Thanks a being there man' and 'Yeah, whatever.' after a few beers" doesn't solve.

Idols are people!

A large number of people in the world ranging from the Dalai Lama to a number of celebrities are looked up to, admired and often revered. We, who idolize them usually defend anything they might say against those who tend to malign them. The entire process of maligning and defending can be seen prominently across Twitter (amongst the Twitterati) and television journalism on an everyday basis. However, every so often, one of our idols makes a statement that does not go down with us very well thus giving birth to feeling of betrayal since "How dare they say that?"

Most of us have to make conscious and rather failed attempts to put a filter between our minds and mouths. Thankfully we don't have people recording every statement of ours. If those statements came out in public, we would probably embarrass ourselves to isolation for the rest of our lives. But our hypocritical inner self wants to exempt our idols from the same.

The subjective approach worsens the number of such incidents when we fail to give leeway that said things may be spoken in jest or quoted out of context. I myself have been guilty of that recently when I came to know about the jovial tendencies of a certain man I admire by the people who had actually met him. None of us are naive enough to believe every word quoted or reported by the paparazzi. We know better. We know how they twist and turn and cut and quote in an attempt to create headlines. We are victims of it while being guilty of doing the same on platforms that are accessible to us.

It's increasingly necessary to understand and accept that those who have the power to reach out to a larger number of people than we do are humans. They eat and drink and poop and scratch themselves much the same way that we do. After putting them on a pedestal, we not just want to revere them, but we also expect them to voice that which goes on in our heads. Some of these may be elected officials while some may have been put up there owing to the nature of their career or by their very birth within a certain family. Some have chosen to be there. But whatever have been the method, it does not negate the fact that they are still regular humans like us. Some of them have fancy PRs and speeches written out for them which could curb the damage done by their 'out of line' statements but a large enough number does have the same perks.

They might be on a pedestal but nobody's perfect.

I got a boo boo!

Chopping tomatoes this morning for breakfast, I sliced my finger with the knife. Sucking on the finger to stop the blood flow, I went to my mother, who was busy working on a presentation. "hmmmmm.... mmmmm....." I said, trying to grab her attention. She said without turning around,"What happened? Need help?"

"Hmmmmmm.... mmmmm... I said.", trying to grab her attention; but she wouldn't turn around.

"I cut my finger." is all I had to mumble when she turned around, immediately muttering under her breath,"Must have been using that sharp knife. I've already cut my finger on that twice. Why aren't you careful. How bad is it. I hope you don't need stitches......" without stopping for breath or an answer.

I just looked at her as I stuck out my finger and she wiped it with a piece of cotton soaked with Dettol, held it together till the bleeding stopped, and bandaged it after. I looked at her and pouted and she kissed the bandaged.

I've cut myself in the kitchen before; on innumerous occasions when Mom wasn't around. And I have been more than capable of cleaning up and bandaging myself. But I'm the Grown-Up-Independent girl on those occasions. And when Mom is around, I'm 5 years old again. When she's around, I need her to bandage my wounds, to wipe my tears and to pat my head to sleep!

When she's around, I can fuss over every paper cut; because when I'm by myself, it's a scratch, but when I'm with her, I got a boo boo!

Where is my Identity?

The increasing religious and racial radicalism is surprisingly omnipresent. USA has underlying racism against African Americans and people in Turbans or Burkas. Australia closely follows the same lines. And in India, every religion seems to have a pact with every other religion for promised hatred, a policy of zero tolerance, and a if-you're-not-with-us-you're-against-us psyche. With the intolerance taking on an increasingly violent streak by the day (on a scale of go-back-where-you-came-from to IS), what is the solution for peaceful co-existence? Succumbing to their radical and political agendas would ensure that countries currently identified by their geographic location or names would be identified as a house for one religion, and one religion alone.

People in the United States have declared on more than one occasion that they are a Christian nation and that's how it should be. The outpouring support for Kim Davis indicates much the same. People in Iraq have declared that it is a Muslim nation. The IS extorting special taxes from Christians living in the state under the pretext of doing do on the commands of the Koran has no other denotation. And people in India have declared on more than one occasion that India is to be a Hindu state where any other religion and any non-regional languages are to be opposed for the fear that "Westernization" may cause "Cultural Pollution" which will eventually require "Cultural Purification". However, the grounds on which the term 'Cultural Pollution' has been coined screams hypocrisy. Those who oppose English-medium education very willingly learnt Hindi when their regional languages were not sufficient to survive. Those who are opposing the meat ban during the Jain festival never protested the permanent ban on beef; the government dictating the kitchens of a common man in both scenarios.

The IS propagates that no Muslim has the right to question the word of Allah or that of his followers. Doing so is committing apostasy punishable by death. Radical Hinduism seems not too far away with the Kalburgi death and the Bhagwan death threat.

This severe animosity is springing from deep rooted insecurities. For centuries, the whole identity of a frighteningly large number of people has lied in their 'culture', limited to their religion, language, geographic location, clothing and a few others as opposed to intellectual identities. With time, Globalization has performed the role of a bag of scrabble tiles. While a small world is welcome to some, the others fear for the safety of their own thoughts. The small percentage for whom identity is a function of their intellectual potential, are like a breath of fresh air in the middle of a busy Delhi street in June, but David and Goliath was just a story when the context is 21^st century violence.

"Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake."

I'm sorry Mr. Tagore. Father didn't hear you.

A Harry Potter Moment

The monsoon is here. I'm sitting in my room looking out of the window and I can see the dark clouds creeping over the entire campus. They move swiftly. Every white and black cloud is clearly visible. It encroaches upon the sky but a clear line is still visible marking the beginning of these clouds. and the clear sky is still visible beyond it.

With years of "knowing", we know that this is no new sight. We know that this happens every year, and that it would start pouring down very soon, and the pathways will be clogged with water, and we'll feel like taking a walk in the rain or may be even just keep looking out of the window looking at the drops on a background of hopeful greenry with a cup of hot coffee in our hands.

But having seen the Harry Potter 7-2 recently, I cant help but think about the moments when the Dark Mark of Voldemort is cast over the skies of Hogwarts. Or even when the Dementers are approaching a certain place, their arrival preceded by the very same cold clammy weather with dark moroseful clouds in the sky.

These clouds have several interpretations. They bring back memories, create memories, make us feel wonderful at times, and melancholy at others. But most important of all, they cast magic on everything they touch.

और कितना चलना है बाकि

एक अजब सी मिटटी

एक अजब चेहरा

कुछ दोस्ताना व्यक्तित्व

कुछ भयानक

एक दबी सी आस लेके हम सब चले जाते हैं

राहें मिलती और जुदा होती जाती हैं

अनगिनत सवाल होते हैं मन में

कुछ क उत्तर मिल जाते हैं

और कुछ साँझ के जैसे ही ढल जाते हैं

किन्तु एक प्रश्न जो मानो पत्थर की लकीर की तरह

कभी सताता है तो कभी नहीं

कभी जवाब मांगता है तो कभी नहीं

इतना कुछ कर लिया

इतना कुछ हो गया

इतनों से मिल लिए

इतनों को खो दिया

सवेरे की साँझ हो गयी

फिर चांदनी भी किरणों में खो गयी

कुछ ख्वाब मालूम हैं ख्वाब ही रह जायेंगे

कुछ को पूरा करते करते हम खुद ही खुद का ख्वाब बन जायेंगे

और कितनी दूर है मंज़िल

क्या देखना है बाकी

कितनी दूर है साथ इस राह का

और कितना चलना है बाकि?

The List that everyone keeps

Every person in the world keeps in a list with them from the day they step into the world. The doctor who delivers you is on the list, the nurse, then your mother, your father, your family and as you grow up, a large many number of people around you.

The list is extremely dynamic and undergoes change constantly subjected to a total of four activities

Whenever a new name is encountered, it is added to list.
As a name becomes more important, its place in the list rises up and others around it goes down.
Some names just fade away.

The most interesting ones are the few names which we cross and hatch so hard, that it is impossible to make out the name, but we never erase them. Because every single time we look at that name, we remember the mistakes that we had committed in the past and it reminds us of what to do and what not to do for the rest of our lives.

Arrey Pagli...

19th May, 2013: First day in delivery. Sankar introduced me to you. You were to be my first boss.
20th May, 2013: First call and introduction with the onsite. You stuttered. I thought you were nervous and stupid.
22nd May, 2013: I told you, my first teammate in delivery, that it was my birthday. I asked you for a cake. You refused.
23rd May - 16th August: We met the third teammate. The three of us used to smoke together.

16th of August: We went for a failed attempt at the team outing. Ended up partying there. It was the first time I smoked up with you. And that's when you told me while smoking and dancing in front of the couch, "Tanjul, this is how I party."

For all of 317 days, I knew you. For at least 275 of those, we hung out.
You've been gone for 334 days. I haven't hung out with you on even one of them. But there's not one day when I didn't see you.


I never thought of it because I never had to; But I knew that we'd be friends till death did us apart.
Of all I met, you were on my fantasy wedding guest list.
If there was news, good or bad, you had to be the first one to know.
Because for any memory to be fulfilled, you had to be a part of it.

The events were never important. The time I spent with you, was.
The snores were never important. Watching Sarabhai vs Sarabhai to sleep, was.
The sandwiches and milkshakes were never important. Laughing for no reason till 3am, was.
Hangovers weren't important either. Neither was the lemon soda you'd make me in the morning. But brunch at Boondock was.

Ding-Dong! Who could it be?
A helmet, a bag, a brown and grey sweater,
Hobbling in, Oho ho ho ho... While you rubbed your messy hair.

Your reluctance to hug while I tried to squeeze your breath out of you.
Your constant spot on the bean bag, and the out of the blue Hmmmmmm...s
Your inability to console people, "There there..", you said,
But you'd hug me when I cried,
And for all the annoyance I had been to you, never quite left my side.

The last conversation over a smoke, as you left early for the day.
And the next time I saw you, you were still sleeping. Wearing the same brown and grey striped sweater. Your hair were as messy as every morning. You still had that calm expression on your face.
Just the snores were missing.
I still miss those snores.
I still want to kick you to stop them when you wake me up in the middle of the night.
I still want to share a last cigarette with you because you taught me how to 'share and care'.
I still want to hear you say one more time, "Lagul lagul lagul lagul, laal laal lagul lagul, Jelly!"

The last one in the box

There had been a two week break,

followed up by the mellow week.

The drunken texts,

and the cliched blocking of numbers.

She figured he had moved on,

She had never spoken to him again.

Every facebook update of his still,

was hard to get used to.

But she was,

Dressing up, going out

Attending parties, and meeting men.

She had amazing friends,

diamonds who stood by her,

helping her get through the moments,

taking things back to normal;

and she was.

She came back home one day,

and apalled by the mess in the room,

she finally decided to clean up her act.

Picking up the old pieces of paper,

and the empty packets of cigarettes,

strewn around the room.

Lay in one corner however,

was a small unknown pack,

they weren't the ones she usually smoked,

they were different.

She picked it up, and rattled it,

out of habit, like she did to every box,

to make sure she didn't throw out one of them,

most of them never did.

This one did though.

She took a peek, and in lay a single Benson and Higgs.

She never smoked them. She knew who did though.

And in a single moment, her thoughts came crashing down,

as she fell to her knees,

with shaking hands and a quivering lip.

His last visit came to memory like yesterday,

The pizza, the movie, and the kiss.

That kiss, the heat, the passion,

The last moment,

when the two had been at the same place,

Physically, and metaphysically,

Completely and utterly.

For over a hundred minutes, she could not think of anything,

other than the rush she had been through.

She took a sip of water, and a deep breath,

threw the box with the last cigarette in the pile of trash,

She'd bought one that evening,

the one she usually smoked.

She didn't need that cigarette,

the last one in the box;

just like he,

wasn't the last one in the box.

She can't sleep

She turns the key at the stroke of midnight,

stepping into a silent house after a long day at work,

She switches on the lights and throws the purse on the bed;

It's late, she realizes, and it's going to be a long day at work tomorrow,

the daily bedtime rituals follow,

and reflecting on the day's events, she tucks herself into bed.

The needle ticks one o'clock,

her head is blank, but she can't quite doze off.

Maybe it's the temperature, maybe not.

She checks her phone for all the missed Facebook updates,

the likes, the comments and the Candy Crush requests,

but it doesn't help, and neither does 9GAG.

What the hell, maybe I should get up.

She heads to the balcony, and the moon is beautiful,

the sky is clear and a cold breeze is blowing;

these are the skies that have been spoken about,

in prose and poetry over the centuries.

It's two am, but she can't quite put herself to sleep,

There's no chaos of thoughts in her head,

but it's isn't quite blank either.

She lights up a cigarette, puts on a song, and slips into a bean bag,

in meek hopes of lightening up her head.

An occasional horn of a car on the street,

in the absence of which she can hear the silence

and the burning cigarette with every puff.

The clock strikes three, maybe I should get a late night snack.

Her image, opening the refrigerator,

illuminated only by the little light inside,

moves the boxes, looking for something to nibble on.

Last night's uneaten dinner doesn't seem to be inviting enough,

Jackpot! There's ice cream in the fridge.

She grabs a spoon and slides back into her bean bag in the balcony,

as Eric Clapton begins to sing, You look wonderful tonight.

But she doesn't. She doesn't feel wonderful,

and all that she wants is for her mind to calm down so she can go to sleep.

The ice cream is over, but her mouth still craves something,

rattling the box, she's down to her last two cigarettes.

Must smoke wisely, and it strikes four am.

These are those awkward night moments,

when she reminiscences all that's happened in her life,

and what she anticipates to do with it.

There's no point going to bed anymore,

if she has to attend the call on time,

A cup of coffee would be perfect.

Choosing one of the five coffee bottles in the shelf,

the Mocha, and as she pours it into the mug,

as the house fills up with the only too familiar scent.

I could head to the terrace, there might be birds chirping,

and she might even be able to see the sunrise for the first time in months.

As she rests against the ledge, and lights up,

she can see the mini-forest behind the apartment complex.

What am I looking for, what am I thinking about,

what is in that view of the forest,

and suddenly she feels like a cliche.

It's such a beautiful weather, the brink of morning but not quite there yet,

at the stroke of 5 am.

That coffee was great, but I'm so tired.

The body needs some rest, I should lie down for a while.

She goes to bed, trying to be careful that she doesn't doze off,

since the sunrise awaits, and so does a long day at work.

Keeping her eyes open, with the lights switched on in the room,

the phone ready to browse all those emails, and notifications.

Maybe a small nap. The sunrise is still twenty minutes away,

and a nap wouldn't be too harsh.

She puts the phone aside and covers herself up with a blanket,

the nap is going to be so welcome after an entire night of being awake.

There's a sharp ringing of silence in her ears, as she closes her eyes,

and the first thing in her head is a butterfly effect.

How different would the night have been,

had something changed in her life; a small incident,

maybe some words, maybe some people,

or maybe it would never have been. That's how that night was always meant to be.

She knows she won't wake up on time.

She knows she'll have to send across another mail apologizing for being late.

She knows what will happen in her very predictable routine.

She hopes it was different.

Someday, it will be, very different.

Real Fairy Tales

I've been listening to a lot of very cheesy songs recently; bands like Maroon 5, artists like Ed Sheeran and the likes who produce works like 'Sugar' and 'Give me love'.
It's only after binge watching these songs does it dawn on me as to why these artists are overly popular with the girls. They paint a fairy tale; One thing that every girl probably wants, irrespective of how ambitious, career oriented, fed up of failed romantic attempts she might be.

These fictional stories describe how there exist characters whose lives revolve around these women, the lengths to which they are willing to go for her, the way they pamper her and the way they are worried about her.

Now either I am yet to see such stories in real life, or these characters in their true nature are essentially just pure fantasy fiction.

Coming back to reality, which is very different.

You both have jobs. And only in cases where you are living together, would you possibly be able to spend even a couple of hours with each other everyday. Both of you have independent and mutually exclusive social circles. And most people like to keep it like that to a certain extent. They want to be able to spend some time and have some personal space because they do not want to spend every leisure moment with their significant other. The public cuddling and the giggling and making you feel like you're the center of the universe/their princess (whatever floats your boat), doesn't happen. Wake up! They've spent the majority of their lives without you developing relationships in their own world which (more likely than not), will continue to be more important than their relationship with you. This is very possible despite them being in love with you. Being in love with someone and making them the highest priority are two different things. And you can continue picking up any of the videos in any of the 'love' songs and find an unrealistic scenario everywhere.

These videos in turn will end up giving birth to unrealistic imaginations/fantasies. Now I'm not entirely sure whether these are healthy because there are great chances of these fantasies turning up eventually into expectations. From my experiences, it's not healthy to have expectations in a relationship in the first place. Add on to it, if you're a straight woman, you're probably in for a bad surprise. Men don't fantasize about dreamy fairy-land situations. They're not going to surprise you with flowers or whisper modern equivalent of Shakespearean sonnets in your ears.

But despite all the misconstrued notions and flattery you're going to miss, love does exist. He might not take you on a fancy dinner where everyone is dressed in ball gowns and you dance till sunrise, but he will surprise you with breakfast in bed and tickle you till you can't breathe. He won't cuddle you on a park bench overlooking the lake but he will make love to you with passion you couldn't believe the existence of. He may not sing a song or write poems for you, but he will look at you in such a way, if only for a moment, when the world around him would cease to exist and he would marvel in his head at his luck on finding a woman as amazing as you are who loves him for the mess he believes he is.
And when he does that for you, you know that you've found your version of the fairy tale. You're not Cinderella or Snow White. You're you. And you're the star of your own movie.