Sunday, March 9, 2014

Women's Day

One of my all time favorite stories is of Hafez and Tamerlane, known better in mother tongue as Timur the Lame.

Hafez wrote one verse that went like that 'if that babe in Shiraz, which is of Turkish descent, returns one favor that I keep throwing at her (like a total fuckin' fool), for that mole on her cheek, I will give up all the treasures of Samarkand and Bukhara.'

So Tamerlane, the lame king, the last illustrous Mongol, and the first of the Moghuls, which were later to play a very instrumental role in the history of sub-continent, heard this verse. And he was like super pissed because he thought that Hafez had crossed a line by giving up his the beautiful bejeweled Samarkand and Bukhara, the cities that he rules. So like all super-pissed men in power, he had Hafez summoned to his court. And Hafez like all helpless men in love, obliged to the inquisition. Once Hafez was in Tamerlane's presence, Tamerlane thundered, "Bitch! With the blows of my lustrous sword, I have subjugated most of the habitable globe... to embellish Samarkand and Bokhara, the seats of my government; and your crack poet ass wants to sell it for the black mole of some dame in Shiraz!"

Hafez bowed and spoke like totes non-nonchalantly, "O mighty lord king, it is the same prodigality which is the cause of the misery in which you find me in today."

The mighty king was taken aback by the poet's answer. Poets are witty fucks. Lot of people, who haven't read Bacon, have trouble fathoming that. Once the king came afront from aback he was so delighted at the rejoinder that he gave Hafez gold worth his weight.

Poets, don't they say the darnest things. But they say a saint knows a saint. Only people who have been through the same shit can understand you. And even at that, I deep down believe that nobody can actually completely understand us, because no two individuals have the same emotional response and we are all born alone and die alone, and somewhere God hates us all. Anyway i digress as always. So on women's day, Saturday eve, I was at a gig, watching a pretty untalented band maul some of the golden songs from my teen years. And over there I saw this woman. She must be in mid 30s. But god, she had this air, this confidence, this calm around her, that even I was amazed. There were a dozen uninteresting girls over there. Swaying, flirting, laughing. But she was leaned back in a chair, her chin up right, and she was smoking and she would occasionally lip-synch a lyric. I felt she could just destroy me with her confidence.It was phenomenal. And don't talk me for a guy who lacks confidence. I am a little flamboyant and ultra-over-confident on the worst of my days, so I am pretty calm around babes, but this one made me feel belittled and kinda really horny. I mean I had been sort of down with a terrible flu for a week or so. But before I could even introduce myself, she left. And then everybody left, I sat smoking and waiting for taxi, chatting with the cafe owner who was waiting for me to leave so that she can close. I did dirty dishes for her. She was also in mid-thirties. A bit nervous. I thought of hitting on her but older women have never been my thing. I actually don't get guys who like older women citing 'experience'. I mean how much experience one can get. Once you get comfortable in your skin after sleeping with someone for one time, there is not much out there. Yea, bondage, if you want to go down that line. Anyway, I felt there were stories of two beautiful women that I have missed out on.

And once I was back home, the movements of both those women came back to me. The arms, the arches, the legs, the breasts, the temples, the cheeks, the necks, the lips, and all that. I grew up without any girls or women around, except for my mother, so that kind of explains my eternal fascination with women. But the truth is that there is nurturer and a healer in every woman. I mean if I could have a penny for every damaged goods story that I heard from girls, but still, if you love them well, they become pretty whole, pretty quickly. Unfortunately, not a lot of men know how to love women. And a lot of women don't know how to teach men how to love. And yes, these are both very much acquirable skills.

But anyway, to cut through the chase, dear women of the world, thank you. I have been always blessed with amazing amazing women. True that, it works out sometimes, sometimes it doesn't. But still you ladies are my favorite pieces of poetry that I have read at the end of the day and on the mornings that I don't like poetry. The world will fall apart without you. Or atleast someone's world. Some day. Don't ever forget that. Keep it real. Much love. Hugs and kisses. xoxoxox




ps : I haven't been writing much, but been really busy. Also wrote this total sober.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Homage to a Hell of a dame!

It was raining and it was an extremely cold night. I had landed on that song through some soundcloud suggestion and as her smiling, vicarious, and almost taunting voice rose through the silence, something rose within me.
'the magic in your black eyes'

In an instant, I was teleported to another time and place. In that place, I was a young boy who had just read The Procurator of Judea the night before and was wondering what 'their liquid eyes that shone in the shade' actually meant. The next evening when I was sitting in front of her, all of a sudden, some car came our way and the headlights of that car bathed her in a spotlight. And she looked at me, with no particular expression or thought.

And her black eyes shone in the dark against that light. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in my life. It's funny how all of my friends never called or thought of her to be extremely beautiful. They called her cute or hot, and very attractive at best. And they are to an extent right as she doesn't have a hourglass figure or halo-ic skin glows or the imperious airs.

Between me sitting in my room listening to 'the magic in your black eyes', and me sitting in front of her having the first lapse of courage and intelligence of my life, there are nights, cities, several other girls, and emotions and states to which there is no end.

But she remains one of the most beautiful things I have seen or experienced in my life.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Narcissus' Notes

All this leprous day and then more vodka, 
more soda and the pond forgiving our bodies, 
the pond sucking out the throb. 
Our bodies were trash. 
We leave them on the shore. 
I and thou and she 
swim like minnows, 
losing all our queens and kinds, 
losing our hells and our tongues, 
cool, cool, all day that Sunday in July 
when we were young and did not look 
into the abyss, 
that God spot. 

The fury of Sundays - Anne Sexton


So I had just moved back to my place and did my laundry. Then began the painful yet pleasing ironing of the shirts. No matter how fresh each shirt was and smelled heavily of the detergent and the softener, every time i ran the iron along the collar of each shirt after sprinkling it with a mild spray of water, the distinct smell of each perfume that i wore last time when i was wearing the said shirt would resurface. And it is said that nothing elicits a memory better than a smell. And i remembered when i wore the shirt for the last time, where i went, and what i did. One time a girl took me out for jogging and i had my favorite perfume in my bag, (yes i have a bag), and i dropped it in her car after she dropped me. She said she liked it so much that she sprayed around her bed one time. Well she could've had me around her bed, but you know women.

Anyway, as i was hanging my shirts in the closet, i remembered how my friends always mention my eclectic and rather peculiar affinity for checkered shirts. And i took a step back and looked at my shirts. I was immediately pleased with my choices. I admired myself. I patted myself on the back for the way I have developed over the years. I congratulated myself and then i turned back and took a long hard look at myself in the mirror. I loved what i saw. Though thinning hair has been the biggest blow that my self-esteem has endured so far, but still, when i compare myself to my class-fellows, i think i have fared extremely well. I have gained a few kilos but my ultra unhealthy lifestyle is to blame for that. I can rant all night sober or not. I have a strong love-hate for common man, just like a true artist should have, even though i am no artist or the kind. Well, i am not into bragging so let's leave it at that.

Self-love, they say is mother of the vanity and in turn of all sins. But what they forget to tell you is that how much incredibly fun it is.








ps : what i meant to say was that I would've probably needed only four shirts if we were all color blind. And also i need to buy more shirts. Actually i have more but i have retired them now. So hard being a man :(  Just read the last line again. lolol. No it's not :( hard being a man, it is :D being hard being a man. kthxbye.



Sunday, September 22, 2013

Ranting Raconteur

If you think they didn’t go crazy
in tiny rooms
just like you’re doing now

without women
without food
without hope

then you’re not ready

 How to be a great writer - Charles Bukowski.

So maybe i won't end up like Bukowski at all, for i am never without women, food and hope. As long as i don't chose to be. But past couple of months have been really crazy. Where do i even begin.

I failed a fuckin' test. Again. And i felt FUCK MY LIFE. FUCK ME. TAKE MY MONEY, GIVE ME ALCOHOL, COME PICK ME UP AND BE NICE TO ME AND LOVE ME AND TELL ME I AM THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE kind of low.

I kind of got fired at work. Like actually my employer's contract was terminated on a very short notice by a bitch of a customer (to whom we provide managed services), so i wasn't technically fired but the customer never liked me. They complained to my manager that whenever i go to their premises for meetings, i flirt with all the girls. So my manager warned me. And i got really sad and low that why don't people understand my love for women. So i made up for that by flirting and befriending two girls (one is kinda fat and other looked really messed up) whom i hadn't flirted with before. So there's that.And then the customer hired me but i will leave them soon probably. Because you don't fuck with my employer which is like the alma mater of my trade. That's why. Also i miss my manager who asked me to show him a picture of my gf and that was the first time i downloaded a picture of a girl on my phone. Also i told him my bank balance one day, dead sober, while inquiring about another job prospect. These leeches would never live up to be as good as my stupid, old, always thinking in the box, manly and ultra supportive manager. And i asked another of my older manager for a reference letter for a job application and he said that he will write that keep all girls out of my reach at the job i was applying for. Talk about not putting up pretenses.

And remember like i kinda fell in love at the start of summer. So after that i wasn't very keen on girls anymore. I mean on my way to work or on way back, i did fall in love with like two three girls, each day, except for Sundays, because on Sundays i go out to malls and shit to ogle babes and fall in love with them and be creepy around them and stuff, but after that girl left, no other girl would make up for that huge void that she left me in soul which couldn't be filled up with alcohol or poetry or gardening or cooking or sewing that i took up to kill time. So that got me thinking that maybe i am off the game. And i did feel like i was off my game. And then a friend of mine told me that the said girl took my game. And i was like oh no, i should try my game again. And i did try my game again. And i realized that my game is like so much better than before. It's like each month's paycheck is giving me more confidence and things that one needs for the game. After all, it's not the 800$ suit, it's knowing that your suit is worth 800$ that keeps your back super stiff, right?. I mean, i chatted up a girl at airport standing behind me in queue by asking her oh my god what perfume are you wearing. She must've thought that i am gay. But hey since gay became the new straight, it is no big deal. And chicks are lot less homophobic in my humble opinion than most people i know. I mean other day i saw this really beautiful blonde man, he was like tall and had long hair and was wearing a really open v-neck t-shirt and i was in a bus and i noticed all the guys were looking at him and i sighed and i said to myself that yea, even i'd probably let him do me. So yeah, there's that. And about game, there is this tall silly girl in HR who texted me out of the blue one day for a copy of a required document and one hour and 30 texts later decided to go out with me. (Those 30 texts weren't all mine, i mean it was one-one correspondence, me sending 30 texts asking her out, might actually work, but hey that's no game, that's only persistence. And sending the same 30 text in one hour asking her out, well that's just, i mean god help you brother, application for restraining order shit.)

Ok and then i have this friend's sister who is single and when i first met her she was all over me. Like all over me. I mean it has been such a long time ago that a girl was so all over me. Mostly they are like oh no you are so funny and cute we will not fuck you despite of your big shoulders, work harder than that. And that really pisses me off you know. Because other day i read someday somewhere on internet that men hate being called cute, as we are men not puppies, call us handsome and sexiest man alive. So technically she is out of bounds as she is my friend's baby sister (she is as old as me) on grounds of what i like to do to girls. But she came one evening to take me out and deliver a gift that was sent by her older sister (my bff). And it was full moon and by the time we reached the end of my street i told her omg look at that full moon. And she looked at me and she said to me, you are a full moon. I mean, who the fuck does that. Only my mother thinks i am that pretty and comparable to moon. Oh my god. I mean being a boy it feels really really nice if a girl tells you that you are full moon. But anyway, she was  such a cute and simple girl. She said, 'God willing, we will get alcohol tonight' totally non-sacrilegious-ly I mean how damn cute is that. You gotta love religious girls. I mean they got it going for them. Somehow. And she was being so sweet. She said that she wants to get married and have a man to make her happy everyday. I mean i wish getting laid would make my life one bit happier or easier. And i thought i really did dig chicks and their need about being loved no matter what kind of abusive stupid dick they end up with. But it figure that i don't know chicks at all. And in my humble opinion, understanding women is overrated anyway. They don't understand themselves.

And then another of my friend's sister had a break up while i was away on vacation, and i had a little crush on her. But each time i start talking to her, my friend makes this poker-face which made me realize that she is not comfortable with me making her sister laugh. I mean, come on ladies, you gotta trust a brother. And then another of my best friend had a break up. And another of my friend kinda stopped talking to me over something (a little something, i shouldn't have done). So i am dealing with so much estrogen right now that it's not even funny anymore. I wish i was friends with more men and had to deal with testosterone. I mean like saving guys from jumping from cliffs and poetry and making the world a better place kinda shit. But no all i get is estrogen to deal with. Pretty pretty girls, whom i can't sleep with. Do you have any fuckin' idea how much that hurts. Being in a candy shop, with a sweet tooth, having handfuls of candy but like fasting. WTF? And i have never known even the spelling of abstinence.

So i got so fucked up that i decided that i will grow a mustache. But then i thought to myself that people might think that i am trying to re-invent myself like a sad little fuck. So no, mustache ain't gonna happen. Might dye my hair blonde though. Hmm and you might think that i am overthinking it but in my humble opinion underthinking it or just thinking it is for wusses. Real men always over think shit. And my only man-bff whom i get to see only two-three months nowadays although we live in the same city two streets apart and used to work in the same office told me one day to go for studies and stop selling my soul for the pennies. Well today i have been totally rantsy and like totally sober. I also decided to practice self-control. I saved the last slice of a pizza for two for breakfast yesterday night. Ate it. Two hours later. So i guess that's a start. Self-control has always been a myth to me. I have tried reading about it but didn't enjoy it at all. Someday maybe i will watch a film on it. Also i am cutting down on alcohol. In August, i had like only three drinks. In September, i kinda got fucked up. So don't ask. But then i finished all alcohol and woke up one morning and decided not to drink. During weekdays. Before 8 PM atleast. Or while sun is up. That is just wrong you know.

So much for ranting. I am pretty sure that my life is super exciting and super fucked up. So you won't get it anyway, so you won't get it anyway. For a lover of summers, mine was super-fucked. Hope yours ended better.

Here's to sucky, soul-inflicting, soggy winter that might well be the best winter of our discontents.



Saturday, September 7, 2013

The River

A river runs down her spine. From the nape of her neck to the curves of her hips. Mother earth keep me warm tonight. Oh holy mother burn us with desires. I hear them talk and i don't feel empty anymore.

Oh her hair hang down her shoulders to her breasts and i am watching her. The couch, the river and the void. She tells me it's just the alcohol making me talk. Oh a river runs down her spine. She likes Vivaldi. Who likes Vivaldi in this day and age. Oh and another river runs within my veins. Do you know when a man see his brothers fight him, his heart breaks? Let me run my fingers along the river that runs down your spine. Don't you know there is a river running in my blood.

I am nestled here against her. She pinned me down and i watched her. There is river running down her spine. I tell her, there is river running down your spine. She turns away. I reach for her. I don't want to reach for her but there is a river running down her spine and her hair are flowing down her back. If your spine is the river what are the hair? She looks at me with her dull imperial eyes. She is all dolled up but her shoulders scream of loneliness. There is a river running down her spine.

Time freezes in my veins. The rivers, they keep flowing.


Saturday, August 31, 2013

The Orphan King

     There is this legend in one of the ancient kingdoms, a kingdom is but a kingdom with all its grandeur, power and corruption and names of a kingdoms are not of any consequence, of an orphan king. It is said that he was born an orphan and soon afterwards his mother died as well so that when his legend is written or read the empathic listener or reader may have imminent sympathy for him. He was a lonely child. It is not known what he did in his childhood, he could've been a shepherd, a carpenter or a farmer. It is also not known where he learnt to read and write or to maneuver a horse with such brilliance. He joined the army and was neither interested in loot nor in drunken debauchery (which if you ask me is one of the most pleasant pastimes known to mankind). He knew no greed and was haughty and arrogant like princes. He didn't speak much to anyone. The mystique of his peculiar traits commanded respect and awe as is the wont of heroes of all ancient stories and he was given much of it.

         The circumstances leading to him becoming a king are shrouded in myths and legends. He was a symbol of strength for the nation, indefatigable and invincible. His people loved him and he was kind to them thus making him a tailored to fit-all histories kind of king. The sultanate was rich with ample money. He ordered the construction of a replica of his palace, right next to his own royal palace. Initially the people speculated that this idiosyncrasy is for palace of their future queen consort and the heirs to the kingdom. However once the palace was completed the orphan king announced it to be an Orphanage. Well, what to expect of a king with mommy and daddy issues.

The orphanage was soon populated with the orphans of the state. There is always an abundance of such needy species once one starts looking for them. The orphanage was as lavish as the royal palace. Several luminous scholars were hired for the education of the orphans. The orphans were trained in art of fighting. The king dined with orphans every evening, joking and telling tales of brave warriors as to instil such qualities in the orphans. He loved the orphans as if they were his own children and envisioned that one day any of his orphans could be the heir to his throne. People envied the good fortune of the orphans. It was such a kingdom in which being an orphan was a bigger advantage than having parents.

     And then the king addressed his people one day. And he explained a few things about the orphanage.He said, in a voice that sounded unshakable as the mountains surrounding the valley, 'i called upon the gods to help me. Gods didn't come. I was abandoned to my fate. Abandonment is a terrible unresolved psychological issue to have once one lives in the first world or has equal privileges in any space and time. I had waged war upon the injustices of the world. I promised myself that there will be no orphan unattended or unaccounted in my kingdom. And today you are all my witness that i have kept my word, i have defeated my fate, i have fought it all alone and i give it back to these lonely brave young bereaved. You wanted a heir, i give you an army of heirs, each one stronger and better than me.'

   The people were befuddled. The religious lot deemed it heresy. The philosophers discussed among themselves if the struggle of the king can render any inferences to the meaning of life. The sycophants wrote paeans, the historians recorded the speech as a landmark of their nation and the common folk not knowing much just loved their king a bit more.

Whereas the king had made the penultimate mistake. He had exposed his sentiments to the general public. Sentiments, and especially sharing them, and especially with general public can never do anyone any good. Once one reveals one's pain, one is privy to further inflicts. And thus the fate of the king was sealed. And it is said that after some time two orphans were brought to the king's orphanage. These new orphans were never seemed to be happy in the king's orphanage. These children wailed for their father and had no use of luxuries of the palace. And thus, greatly piqued by these children, asked them the reason of their perpetual consternation. And they told the king, that their father had committed suicide as he was poor and knew that his children as orphans had better chances at life with him dead than with him alive.

It is not known whether the king broke down immediately, did he shrieked in despair or a lonely tear rolled down his cheek, did he retire to his room and was absolutely depressed or did he continue with his daily tasks and let it gnaw at its soul. However it is known that the king abdicated his throne. Some accounts say that he was last seen as a beggar living off the crumbs of food that village people throw at him. Some say that he accepted that he couldn't defeat fate and lived as a hermit in mountains.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Fight Like A Girl

Unlike most other men, I love boobies, of ladies. Size doesn't matter. I mean sometimes once you take the girl's bra off and her breasts are bigger than what you had imagined, and you are like whoah, but that's almost as long as the surprise lasts. A certain lady, who happened to be the object of my affections, (i mean like my only and real ex) was totally flat chested and boy is she a looker. 

So considering my love of boobies, a certain ex-ish lady friend of mine let me touch hers. It was nothing like the old times nor remotely fun.

The tiny pebble, which slipped each time i tried to put my finger on it, moving freely in the flesh underneath the smooth skin in her right breast, is a 17mm tumor and the one in the left is 19mm. She is 28.

I didn't google the medications and treatments. I am pretty sure she will be alright.

However, I did google the pink ribbon and breast cancer awareness stuff.

This images below are my favorite so far. Because i think of myself to be something of fighter-survivor (it's the modern name of my hunter-killer instincts) and i am nowhere near as good a fighter as couple of my gal pals are.

And OMG all you chickas reading this, October is breast cancer awareness month. Fuck! there are so many things to do in life.






Thursday, August 1, 2013

Layla's Lament

'My Lord! All praise to him, for the door of tavern is wide open
My Lord! I am in your good graces, for they still not slam the door of tavern in my face,
The truth is not my goal, for the tavern still welcomes me, this tale runs long
The curls and waves of Layla's hair, Oh it was the grief of her Lover,
Oh but now, woe is Layla, woe is Layla, woe is Layla.'

Layla's Lament. The legend of Layla Majnun as sung by a Persian singer. 


She was my manager. I used to keep much to myself and didn't acquaint myself at all to people at work. It was her birthday dinner and i didn't want to go. It was terribly cold and i was coping with a failure. I didn't want to go at all. But then she came over to my desk and told me that she thinks that I have terrible social skills and need to some people. Well, it doesn't get any personal than this. So I went to that dinner. There weren't many people there and I told her that I think that she probably needs a social circle more than me. I think that's when we started to become friends. I had heard people at work call her cougar. She was a divorcee. She told me about the secret club at office which comprised exclusively of smokers over 35 and has all the latest gossip about employees and project served hot and fresh. I so badly wanted to be in but i wasn't 35.

So she got really interested in setting me up with one of the girls at office. There were plenty of hot single girls in that office. So one day there was this antagonizing team building fun dinner games, to which she gave me a ride. And as soon as we boarded her car, she produced a bottle of brandy from the glove box and we both had three or four swigs and were plenty buzzed as we crept in the weekend evening traffic. And we started talking. I asked her about divorce, she asked me about my relationships. We touched both topics superficially and left much to each others imagination. But i liked her. She was incredibly headstrong, street smart and witty. She was old enough that i couldn't be interested at all.

She fixed me coffee in office one day and came with me to smoking area. She didn't smoke. I tasted the coffee and it had alcohol in it. And she started laughing and told me that she was having a bad day and wanted to have a drink at work and couldn't think of a better listener than me. That was my first drink at work. I have this problem with self-control where a little leaves me craving for more and that one drink left me incredibly thirsty. So i asked her to come home with me to finish this conversation. And she came and we had more cognac. My sex playlist CD was in the sound system and she played it. I told her that this music is not right for the occasion but she insisted. She was getting drunk. She started to talk about her ex-husband. She got married when she was 27 and had gotten divorced a year earlier after ten years of marriage. The chances of happiness for a 37 year old divorcee are pretty slim and keep becoming slimmer with passing of every year. A woman past her prime. I asked her that why did she get divorced. And she told me in a plain flat voice that they were not just in love in more for last two years of the marriage and were living together. And they were living the routine and pretending that this is just a phase and they will be happy again. But deep down they both knew that it's over now. She is the only woman i have seen in my life who spoke of her doomed relationship without remotely pretending to be the victim, whereas i felt that she was the victim. So to confirm i called her ex-husband a bastard that how could he leave someone like her. She immediately told me not to call him names as he is a nice guy. Poor thing was still in love with him.

And we were both considerably drunk. And Cure's Love song's cover by Tori Amos started to play.She smiled at me bitterly in appreciation of the song. And at 'no matter how far away, i will always love you', she burst into tears. This 37 year old staunch women right activist, of whom most men at work are afraid of, to whom all the girls at work go to for support and courage, cried on my couch listening to 'Love Song'. Such are the powers or should I say powerlessness. I put my arm around her and sweet talked her out of it. Once she was sober she asked me that how did i know what i know. I didn't answer.

Some other day she showed me a picture of her ex-husband and her on a vacation. She was wearing a white dress on which there were huge black stars. She had short hair back then. Her husband was wearing a t-shirt and khaki shorts. They were sitting on the bark of a tree in some park underneath an overcast sky. Person who would've taken their picture might have felt a little envious of this gorgeous happy shinning couple. He would've have never known that few years later they would be in different corners of the world, coping with a bitter resentment, unable to retrace their footsteps, a life that didn't exist anymore, remembering nights, days and routines that had vanished.

She is undoubtedly the second strongest woman i have ever met in my life. She still laughs a decibel louder than everyone else on the floor, dances a quarter longer than the rest and goes on like it doesn't mean a thing. She never relents in admitting that she is still in love with her ex-husband and beats her forehead. She told me that she still wonders somewhere deep down that if they'll be back together again. She is eternally anticipating a tiptoed return of a lover gone, each time the phone rings, each time there is a knock on the door. But in reality she is just as abandoned as it gets. I told her the Borges' line that 'trouble with the strong and brave is that nothing other than their love can hurt them.'

There is no precise moment of reckoning that one has fallen in love. Little by little, drop by drop, it breaks and finds its way all through the dark corners to illuminate one in heavenly bright light. But there must be a discrete and defined moment when one realizes that one is not in love anymore. Bukowski once mourned to 'all the love that has died between men and women'. Where does the miracle go? How does one get so damaged that a single empathic word can make people melt? Was it the same woman Neruda abandoned about whose feet he wrote that 'your wide fruit mouth, your red tresses, but most of all i love your feet, only because they walked on earth and on wind and on water, until they found me'? Why do we have this urge of devastating people we love? Is it a sadistic curiosity of how much one cares about you? Where does this deep dark appetite for destruction come from?

At the end of Layla's legend, she goes to another country, lives silently with another man and dies. Layla's name probably can be taken for a simile as it's a literal derivative of the word 'night'. And if you want to ask me like her that how I know all this, let me ask you a question. 'Do you know what is it like to be a lover? To be half of a whole?'