Writing

The wind flew against me, I embraced the pressure and gathered myself standing still, playing.

The wind was flowing easy and I walked as it flew with me now, I took a long walk that day.

It was confusing as somedays the wind would walk with me, we’d watch the sunset together and somedays it flew against me and the clouds would cover up the sky but I would wait everytime hoping it’d be my way the next day.

Today, The wind fought hard to flow in the direction that didn’t match my path is where I figured that the flow of the wind was at ease with me and chose to flow the opposite way hence the aggression?

Little did I know, it was never about me.

I fell sick distanced by the wind, I didn’t step outside today or tomorrow, days passed and then months.

My innocence could not keep calm as it jumped with excitement to finally step outside believing that this time the wind will embrace me and take me with it.

I stumbled and held to the tree as the storm felt against me, I tried to ease the wind but couldn’t get hold of it, has anyone ever? I thought to self.

As I wander hopelessly,Battling with the melancholy,Denying the part everyday.

‘Me’ as a perfect being cannot wander with depressing thoughts! How can I be so bothered, oh it’s just a phase and it will pass! I question myself how I landed up here again? I keep coming back to this point where I still choose to live in denial but why is it striking me now, am I awake?

I quiver to my activated senses and shut my eyes, oh c’mon this too shall pass, keep holding on! Keep living, everything will be fine for a period; yes, but it will be.

Smile, find yourself enjoying and embracing what it is, oh no don’t cry while at it, you’re strong, you’re independent, don’t let it affect you, what is wrong with you, aren’t you always right with your choices?

Why are you seeing this with a new perception now, going against the odds? Well is it because he’s not there wagging his tail before you sleep telling you it’s all gonna be okay?

It has been months now that you’ve gone and I still fill your bowl with water when I leave from home and raise my ears every time I ring the doorbell so that I catch you barking like an idiot until answered. Hours of trying to sleep are restless as I don’t have answers to my confusions. You knew I was bad at talking about things which bother me to humans. You listened better, you with your silence and eyes filled with empathy helped me find answers or so made me feel good even about the wrong decisions. I did learn a lesson every time giving you your favourite chew toy, with the expression ‘you were right’. But now when I am at my lowest, I have to battle telling myself I’m okay, it’s your fault, you left me.

Your burial has been the most difficult part of my entire life, when you rested in that grave they dug up for you so that you fit in you large beast, my heart skipped a beat when the load of the mud falling over you made your body move. It is also when I realised you were gone, and won’t come back.

I may be selfish as I cry when I don’t have you anymore for my rants and the answers I seek. I haven’t been able to accept the fact you’re not there anymore, well how could I, you gave me 9 beautiful years of my life. Not a day has passed when I haven’t thought about you, people around keep asking about you and it breaks my heart to tell them that you’re gone.

I never imagined that a baby who stumbled from a beautiful red basket came running to me with the softest paws and the cozy fur jumping over me will leave me someday. People mention their best days and I’m always weary of my answers but I have one now. Having you in my life, has made me survive this far and has taught me the meaning of love.

I couldn’t tell you how lucky I was to have you, I really miss you. I love you, Charger. You rest in peace my love. You were my joy.

Yours,

Pages after pages,

Spirals on the edge, making the series.

On each day, the page is crisp and craves for something to be written beautifully, maybe even doodled or sketched as it enhances it’s worth.

The page awaits that the words or the paints spilled over and absorbed are going to be appreciated and valued.

The journal is given in the hands of the protective one now or so believed with every ray of hope, the anticipation gleams through the eyes while handing it over, overjoyed.

The texture is felt against his hands, the tense rises step by step, it’s appreciated the colours, the patterns, the meanings, but the page is suddenly folded, the crease is visible now, it’s folded again, twisted and mended making the crease more defined. It’s confusing now. Is it normal?

Certain corrections are made, the paper is cut short, the length is adjusted, the handprints are visible now, is it destroyed?

With time it is thrown out, it’s journey has ended or what is believed, but that was not how it was planned or wished for.

It’s yellow now, the dust rests along it’s creases, it’s blackened at the edges, rotting kept in the void, the value fades away.

Unless it’s picked up again, dusted and appreciated for the beauty it holds, someone who values it and has it framed on the walls of the living room as it deserves, or so hoped for.

The moment when you feel the adrenaline which confuses the departure from a short lived memory but the stains left behind make you wonder that how much you never want the moment to end.

Feeling helpless yet questioning every minute of your unexplained attachments, why does the human nature believe the time in’ to be the best way of connection but also talks about love at first sight? Is attraction only the defined measure?

You’ve been expecting everytime you were told not to. You’ve been through the same dilemma’ as you call it but you still meddle in that overwhelming pattern and it never stops.

It wrecks you when you

have been putting all the

effort it takes to be with

someone, saving it all the

time, but one day it all becomes

meaningless because you made

one single mistake.

Your support, your existence

your worth, your value,

It all vanishes like it never

was there, because one day

you mistakenly stopped giving

a fuck about every little thing

they do. No they don’t understand

they question you.

Nobody sees what you did all the

time. Nobody cares. It’s a dilemma, this life.

Your whole life went in adjusting, living

without expectations and now,

The last thing you wanted to hear

The humans and the opinions,

If so, why’s there two sides to every story.

You suffer to your own boundaries

but they stand by their actions too.

Caring and big words said before,

are just words like on this paper.

It hurts if not executed.

They all write curses for the ones they dated

They keep aside those good memories as the bad ones dominate

Some do it for fame, some for sympathy and some are hurt enough to suppress the rest.

I don’t know which category I really belong to, because no matter how chaotic we made our lives in the end,

It was still peaceful than today, it isn’t any less rather complicated versions of despair.

The world’s more complex and I miss you sometimes, I forget why did we separate,

It’s just the thought of not facing all of these if you were with me or if I hadn’t had to face these alone.

Anything can change everything; your life, sudden changes alter your routine, this goes on and on that you find yourself evolving everyday and even how confidently you promised or made a statement about not changing; Are you even the same person you were just a year ago?

But then it’s all about how you’re on a forever basis but not the present.

Times of fame, this unnatural process,

Chaos accomplished, these new complexities

Missing the natural self of free conscious

Those were the times of restlessness but with rested peace,

Being indulged with surroundings surreal,

We’ve forgotten ourselves.

Every memory, every subtlety seems nostalgic

Shedding tears, fading-unfading smiles,

Rushing nostalgia ends here.

Nobody faces the mirror as the moment is over.

Nostalgia is an anxiety, suffered by one and all.

Its a feeling, a suppressed emotion which runs through human nature,

Defocused trend or a magical hoard?

A world residing the fake,

Reality is fiction.

When faces in awe, it remains a question.

Humans inhibited by the act can play the move with life.

Those who stay the way are often sublime.

Inhibition runs through blood of each individual as to make their existence in this rushing evolution.

Provided situation, reaction turn exploitations.

The coercive powers of these societies forcing them to be;