Right across the palace that houses the Prado,
Bookended by the Caixaforum and Feunte de Neptuno,
Was a building number 26 on Paseo del Prado.

To most who walk past, it is a normal building in Madrid,
People see it on the Number 61 bus to and from Atocha,
A mere glimpse of it passes, and blue buses with a bear eating from a tree make their way up and down.

In a temperate November evening, I made a vow. I walked to the Prado and explored inside,
From Goya to Velázquez, I sat and pondered,
Looking at portraits of Charles V, Mars, and Infanta Margaret Theresa depicted in oil on canvas.

For two years, I had not set foot in that palace, let alone the city it occupied, or the innocuous building that faces it.
The building housed a love that ended very badly,
I am not sure if he is still there, but I do think about him sometimes, sadly.

I had visited the unit that this person occupied, with a view of the evergreen trees that line the promenade.
I will never step foot in that unit again, or climb the four floors to get there like the other men.

It was in that moment that I had released the bond, which had been frayed to a singular strand the width of hair,
I renounced my connection and finally let him go,
Transforming the city into the place I had once known.

Now it is an unremarkable building on Paseo del Prado,
Where people hurriedly walk to work, the metro and back,
Tourists eat jamón or calamari sandwiches nearby,
Madrid felt like home again, and somewhere I could finally fly.

This piece was written about a man who was truly generous in heart and soul. If you are reading this, you know who you are ;)

A deep crimson red with gold embossed letters,
My initials for all to see,
Given by a man who was not just tall in stature, but also generous of heart.

He was kind and warm,
With a wicked smile,
A master conversationalist who loved life,
We met at the Waterstones near Air Street,
Surrounded by books housed in shelves that were even taller than he was.

Bronze skin that gleamed in the autumn sun,
With close-cropped hair framing a handsome face meant for cinema,
Dressed in shades of blue that made him look like a Yves Klein picture book,
Wearing a Barbour jacket and powder blue jumper, he was truly a wonder.

I had never met a soul until then who understood what I had experienced,
His empathy was limitless, and he was truly good.

We walked and chatted and talked about life,
Eventually, we had lunch at a rooftop bar,
The view was nice and the company was equally pleasant.
I opened the package that he gave me earlier, and I felt so humbled that he had given me this gift.
I hugged him and thanked him profusely for this gift,
It came from the heart, and that is what mattered.

He wanted to go home, and so we made our way,
I walked him to the tube station and hugged him,
I liked how warm he was and told him to text me when he got back.

I proceeded to enjoy the autumn sun while walking on Southbank,
Enjoying the crisp air and the leaves on the pavement,
Thinking about the man with whom I had spent my morning.
So generous and so kind, and who had made the start of my trip so special,
I wish I could have told him that he changed my tune about dating again, for the better, of course, amen.

Even though it never worked out between the two of us,
I still have the momentos of our morning together,
It reminds me of the goodness in people and how there are gems out there,
I hope he is well and thriving in all matters, for he was the catalyst that mended my heart together.

Waking up with birds chirping,
Feeling cold tiles underneath my feet,
My friend still slumbers, and I am raiding his kitchen.
I only find Lindt chocolate and jamón,
I have eaten much worse, and I proceed to devour them with great alacrity,
I move outside, and the heat is blistering.

It is not too dissimilar to the day before,
Melvin drove his butter-yellow Playero up the winding hills,
Overlooking coves and harbours populated by shining white yachts and boats,
Looking like Wedgewood china sculptures against the cerulean Mediterranean Sea.

We end up in the ocean where a Chiringuito appears,
A bald man serves us drinks with a smile that never goes into arrears,
This is Mallorca in the summer.

I wait a few hours, and another stirs from their slumber,
They wake up groggy and begin to enter a state of wonder,
Lighting a cigarette and discussing the night before,
It was a crazy night in Andraxt, we both exclaim,
I suggest we go for a swim at Cala Fonoll,
He says, Let's go, and our tired and sunburnt selves advance to explore.

Arriving at the beach, Helios is at his prime,
Feeling his gaze at every spot possible,
We set up camp and run into the water,
I enter Varuna's cool realm and see its aquatic denizens,
The water is a deep blue with clear, cloudless skies reigning above,
Someone please paint this vista because it is truly sublime.

I head back to the house, and my friend has awakened,
He announces to us that we are going on another friend's boat,
We all meet up, and soon the shore becomes distant,
The ocean is a mixture of shades of teal, blue, and aquamarine, speckled with white, frothing where it crashes ashore.

We stop in a cove, and it's truly surreal,
The cliffs are etched and hewn away,
Bushes line the top, and it feels unreal.

The water is cold, deep, and salty.
Our skin bronzed by the sun overhead,
The sounds of laughter are the soundtrack of the afternoon.
Our skin is wet with ocean water, a refreshing respite from the boiling sun.

Wakeboarding happens, and it becomes a show,
The air begins to cool, and I can feel Surya retreat and Chandra begin his journey through the horizon,
The entire ocean and sky are tinged with gold and amber,
With the old trees atop casting longer shadows.

As we dock in the harbour and make our separate ways,
The birds begin to chatter,
And we return from whence we came.

Send me your location,
Drop that pin on the map,
You want me to rev my engine,
Speed on the highway,
To have a taste of the ambrosia and amrita that you provide,
What we might do might end up feeling like a sin,
But morality is not going to have any sway.

Open the door and let me in,
Take my coat and offer me a drink,
Don’t let the mood sink,
Embrace me and lead me like a blind fool made anew,
Eyes covered like Lady Justice,
But let this pace not be the fastest.

Egyptian cotton sheets smoother than butter,
Embraces softer than fine cashmere,
Wrap me in luxury, only seen in a Summer Palace,
Bind me with cords that flash and bite like metal.

Take me on a journey, one that never ends,
Longer than the Odyssey, the Mahabharata and tales about Gilgamesh combined.

Bronzed and shining in a fire-lit room,
Let me exalt you with my mouth,
Sign your name on my soul,
And I will not just go down south,
Let me weave a tapestry on my loom,
Taking my time to enmesh threads,
Hopefully, it will show delicate flowers in bloom.

This piece was written in the aftermath of a very tumultuous and abusive relationship. It was when I stopped loving this individual after the breakup and stopped self-sabotaging.

I saw your picture today. Back in July, it would have made me cry. But September has come to a close, and November is nearly halfway done. I don’t think about you as a person. I think about what you represented to me.

I think about all the times you were a perfect partner, and I have to remind myself of all of the times you made me feel like I was never doing enough for you.

All the times I held your hand, dried your tears and had to uplift you when you were down. Yet, when I needed it was so convenient to just ignore when I was in a deep, dark hole.

I have to think of all the abuse that I endured because of your trauma. It is as if your trauma justified me being on the receiving end of your abuse.

I am slowly clawing myself out of that hole. Every day is a struggle, and sometimes I think about you when I am driving on the highway. I envisage you sitting in the passenger seat and us talking about the stupid **** that we talked about.

I imagine us chilling by the pool and drinking champagne together. I imagine all of these moments that I know will never happen with you.

I wish I could say that I am over you. Truth be told, it’s not the case. I miss you, but I also don’t miss you and your actions. I don’t miss the lack of effort or the lack of reciprocation. But I miss your touch and how you made me feel.

I guess it’s better than a few months prior, when I nearly succeeded in ending my life because of the way you chose to exit. I don’t regret my choice of being with you, but I regret making so much of an investment in you.

This piece was an actual exchange with an individual who I met on a dating app.

You say that you will treat me like an king,
But I am bowing to you like you are my emperor,
I present my form to be included in your domain,
Please don’t make me think this is all in vain.

I yield to you and allow you to inspect all of my hills and valleys,
Savour the variety of produce that these fertile lands offer,
Don’t be demure and forsake your claim,
Claim your territory.

Trace my territorial outlines,
My corporal form is terra nullis for only you,
Take stock and inspect my treasury with the precision of Medici accountants,
I willingly offer tribute and it’s not just bunga emas.

Use your mouth to solemnise my treaty of subjugation,
I will use mine to affirm my position in your empire,
Incorporate me into your borders,
Let me feed you and enrich your coffers,
My only request that you alight and maintain a permanent fire.

We must find you a nice girl to settle down with,
It is a line that will invariably come up with some uncles and aunties who are so homophobic that they cannot even fathom someone like me may not even want a nice girl, or a not-so-nice girl, or any girl for that matter.

In the past, I would have said nay and responded with some pithy remark about the value of being single,
But perhaps, given the age that we are in, I can use these uncles and aunties to my advantage?
After all, they seem to have the best vantage points to spot a match.
And maybe they can show me a nice man to be merry with and mingle?

Sadly, Seema from Mumbai will not find me my own Hrithik Roshan, Aamir Khan, or Vikram. I saw The Fabulous Lives of Bollywood Lives, and she was not thrilled when another Seema mooted being in the company of another woman.
Also, I do not have 10,000 dollars to put me on her books, which I may not even get on the nearest nook.

I would like a nice and suitable man,
Someone whom I can walk around the fire seven times,
Whose intelligence, wit, and form are truly sublime,
One whom I do not need to be so coy with,
Someone with whom I can explore the world,
And someone who is quite happy to lie in bed and enjoy gifts.

To the uncles and aunties who may see this,
Next time you see me, present me with candidates,
Send me their biodata in PDF format,
Talk to me about their virtues, and I will consult with my counsel,
My time is limited, and I need someone whom my parents can finally aprobabte.

I know plenty of nice and suitable girls,
But at the rate your sons are going,
I would not even suggest anything involving them for the ladies that I know are second to none.