A Part of me.

Part of me wants this breeze to run through deep down my soul and a part of me wants to hide behind the walls. Part of me rolling under the lust of wandering and for a part of me running back to home is all it wants.

A part of me wants to dive to a vast, blue frosty ocean; touch the coldest part, shivering to the soul and a part of me is afraid to be felt drowning all alone.

A Part of me still long for every single touch of yours with all the love instilled, and a part of me wants to turn over the days to ensure we had never met at all.

And I don’t know what I want.

Neither good nor bad, I am lost somewhere in between.

I’m cold and sour sometimes; sometimes ostensibly fleecy like snow. Drowning sometimes under the veneer of memories while sometimes swaying over the ocean all alone. Sometimes I run away to defy these hollow conventions and then being pulled back again with my laborious soul.

I am starving severely for love at moments and sometimes crave for not being adored anymore. Sometimes preaching morality is my utmost desire and sometimes I’m cruelest the most.

Oh you!

I am neither good nor bad; I am lost somewhere in between. I am lost somewhere in between.

The Culprit!

You always believe, it’s the heart that’s wrongdoer

It’s it that keeps beating and leads you to take a torturous ride?

It’s it that shudders you and keep pinning all the time?

It’s it that reminds you all the bad and carry all the pain.

No, it’s not the heart that’s culprit.

It’s your mind that you’re in battle with!

It’s it that keeps reminding you all and keeps you up at nights.

It’s it that peels off all the wounds and does not let you heal.

It’s it that’s you need to convince, and it’s it that needs to be fixed.

Don’t need you at all.

I am there,

Still,

Broken into pieces,

Speckled like sand.

Holding the wrenched,

Wearing heart.

 

I am there,

Still,

Fading in the darkness,

Melting like the snow.

Tearing,

Numb, tainted and giving my all.

 

Hey, I am there,

Still,

Falling, tumbling and down

Playing tough my own,

while hitting the ground.

But the good is

I don’t need you at all.

I don’t need you at all.

Why does she write?

“Why do you write?” Somebody asked her.

“I do write because I cannot just speak, and believe this is the more expressive way to pour out what haunts me.”

“Oh I…” She murmured.

“These are not only words, these are the feelings wrapped into the letters, these are the longings that supplicate to be taken care and these are the traces for him to come and follow me. And I know – One day he would be able to reach it, one day he would get to know, how often & intensely I used to miss him. I write because I want him to feel all I feel, to hear what I never say and to go through all I have in my mind, continuously repeated.”

“I want him to have this all, at least once.”