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A heart breaks in two or in a thousand pieces, how does it matter. Can't seem to figure out, way to put together.
As it breaks, sort of gives a cave opening, where one walks in, trying to look for answers, reasoning to what led to this. No, won't get them, at least not so soon. It's going to be a long lonely stroll in darkness.
There is an unknown, unheard beauty in darkness, it embraces life, like skin and you don't even get to see, someone which follows you all the time, your own shadow. It's you all alone with infinite tangled threads of a puzzle.
As one walks on, figuring the way in the dark corridors of life, often it so happens, the person gets stumbled, on pebbles of old memories. The very same, which were cherished, loved and used to warm the heart. Now, their coldness, warm the eyes, make them wet.
As they say, there's something good in everything, the way I see, one talks a lot with oneself when left alone. Listens to the one, who was so very eager to have your ear. But then.... probably took it for granted. As you thought, the 'inner you' can't ever go away, as it's you.
How mistaken....
Unintentionally as I would like to think, giving the grace to one's innocence, a person creates such a gorge, inside. Imagine, how it feels to be with a broken heart, lonely a when you look at your inner you, that's too miles away.
You look back, don't feel like retracing the steps as you think, no one's out there. You look ahead, don't want to step forward. as there's no one to walk to. Feels like drifting away, deep into the wilderness and you let go of yourself.
There is no purpose left, other than to survive, wearing a fake smile, when the heart is sobbing. Talking to people, including 'friends' when the solitary is all you've got. Starting the day, only to go through a grind, wishing for early dusk both for the day and perhaps life.
It becomes a wait an unending one. Tiredness starts to catch up, depleting the sanity, much like the land drying up without rain. A question haunts all the time, 'Am I asking for a lot?' God, is a favorite punching bag, you shout, curse, bleed tears, deep somewhere you have hope.
How contrary it is, at one end of the spectrum, the life of a drifter and on the other wants to crawl out of this 'pathetic miserable' life. No, can't call it 'life' for it has liveliness, but then.... such is the vibgyor.
At times, its nothing short of a miracle, that hope somehow survives, doesn't die. The faith in unknown, 'might have bent but won't break' belief and instilling the trust in some shred of a soul that's left, is all you need.
By now, you must be thinking, is everything alright at my end. Yes, it is. However, what all you might consider as a rant, is what I've lived through, not once but thrice, so far. It was extremely tormenting every time. Those three instances took me to the brink.
Not sure, why all the memories have made a visit suddenly. Are they, hinting on a fourth edition lurking somewhere or are they reminding me that no matter what, there's always a hand in that pitch dark dungeon, a soul quite like oneself, who is waiting for you to reach out.
Like anyone, I don't wish to relive it again. Hope my punch bag would be kind enough and won't test me out and if he is reading this, please be gentle on all of us, we have the right to be stupid ungrateful kids, but you don't have one, to be a heartless parent 🙏🏽
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