// C R U S H //


June, 2017

Scattered Sentences

Not love – A kind of lightness.

Illustrated by Swati Singh.

I’ll begin –


With the most cliché beginning,


(I wonder if it’s a bad way to start this inning)


Heart racing, head spinning,


Weird, like blood thinning …


Where was I?


Yeah –



The Beginning.





I don’t really remember or know or care,


But at a freshman party


(or in sophomore year?)


I’d worn a grin from ear to ear


Seen you head over,


Grabbed a beer.


And as I prepared what I’d say,


Nervously trying to not be a cliché


I heard your voice


You murmured, “Hey.”


Your tone – soft, but also clear




It was  good to hear.


That night I swear,


I felt a rush.


When our eyes would meet


And our fingers brush,


And I turned too red at every touch,


With each embarrassed flaming blush,


I saw me slip,


Not fall, into crush.



(Because love is just a hormonal mess,


And I’ve got a whole lot of edginess.


Btw, you’re cute.


You complimented my dress.)


As we talk,


You let me digress




I – um – I realize,


We’re tight now.



It’s midnight now.



We’ve talked for hours like the Ed Sheeran songs,


That we barely like,


But we still hummed along –


You felt right I guess.


(I was later proved wrong.


You’ll see my instinct


 is kind of not strong.)



Between love letters


And general politeness


And your knack for being helpful




A general brightness


And warm long hugs


Of varying tightness


There was something –


Not love –


A kind of lightness.






5 dates down it was official,


You and I were meant to be.


You liked Floyd and us was special,


Like Starbucks and covfefe.


My friends didn’t know you.


But they disliked,


They were right ’cause on date #6


Your Floyd love was,


Proved a lie.


You sly fan of Little Mix.


(Fine I’ll admit I too


May not like soccer like I like you


But KPOP, why?)


You’re such a lovely guy.


So I’ve got to try.


7 days post date #6


while we’re done with Little Mix


You’ve become my little fix.


I know you know the little tricks


You hug me and the magic kicks in.


And you feel so close to my skin.



When we mess up,


It’s no surprise-


That I,


I apologise.


Because love,


is about compromise.


And after all the things we’ve said,


And all the sorries that follow,


I apologise again because,


I’m slightly hollow:


And I have said words that I


Would really like to swallow.


So before I decided to, miserably –


Wallow –


In misery,


You buy me flowers instead .


They’re white roses.


(Who wants thorny red?)


You are a bit too perfect, I’m often afraid


You’re a person I made up in my head.



Thank God, you’re real, because


The newspaper said –


I’ve read the town’s history,


But didn’t  know this snippet –


You were born to my neighbour


Records say – born dead. 
Swati Singh

Swati Singh

Scattered Sentences


Some people are like assortments within themselves. Swati Singh is one of those people. Caught between precision and presentation, she is often found either striking a fine balance between the two, or attempting to hibernate under a rock. She is a blogger who rarely blogs, an artist who hardly draws and a debater who attempts to wriggle out of most arguments. For the most part , her talents lie dormant as she procrastinates with a single minded lack of determination shared only by her cat, but in her rare moments of clarity, she is likely to impress you with her fierce speeches, witty comebacks and her commendable ability to quote Emily Dickinson and text entirely in rhyme.

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