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A wreck read.

3 Jun

 

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We know how important it is to communicate.

Schmoozing with people is good fortune. We all have common listeners. Spoken words however, haven’t been the best milieu for me. I don’t possess the best vocabulary and expressions to elucidate what’s meant to be delivered. Moreover, I am terrified by endings. The curt one. The ones that leave you in awe, that allows you to decide what I meant. You know how dreadful an incomplete misunderstood sentence can be? It’s edged arm.

So I decided to dwell on thoughts. Things that had been in serpentine motion and haven’t exactly traced the dots that I managed to join.  A comprehensive narration of everything that occupied my head. I realized a few things, felt useless for lodging on others and felt inane to linger on to a few. Wrecked, the right word. I know it happens with most of us. We break down, we collapse, regret, wish, pray and long for a way out. Some of us speak out and are good at that, a few of us aren’t confident enough to let words help us out.

But then there are things I am sure about. Things that I realize are meant to be said or else, we can scale the destruction. A decision that carves multiple lives, A truth that can blow the dust away. For occasions like that, we unlock our secret strength. A vigor that is blind and careless and powers us to say, it’s my turn.

It’s important to divulge that. I know we’re weak but silence in such situations will cost us more. Gather positivism, power and will to just say it.

And here I go. To all the bad experiences!

I deny to dis-remember you. I don’t think that you particularly deserve my memory, nor do I be-slave myself into believing that you return my sense of vague wistfulness. There is no part of me that wants to return to the limbo I existed in for so long, or even the often-imagined parallel universe in which you reciprocated my feelings to the letter.

I do, however, want to remember what it feels like to be hurt, to want, to need something so desperately only to find out that your life is perfectly fine without it. As much as the little scar on my knee will always remind me to watch out when I am running, yours on my heart will teach me to be kind.

Mundane.

29 Mar

We’re not special beautiful snowflakes. We’re mundane raindrops. Indifferent and ordinary.

There is this thing about uniqueness, It decays. Something superior is always there to be a replacement. The ordinary however, stays.

And our struggle is to stay. It’s about adding value to the lives and lacunae around us. It’s not only our skin that dies and regenerates to remain plump, it’s not only our soul and body that dies for once – we on a whole choose which part of us has to perish and which lump has to rejuvenate. Decline, anyhow is a requisite.

So we remodel. This process in our personal capacity often takes us to a moment when everything which was glorious suddenly becomes ash. Our elucidation of success changes and there are monsters that we want to cage to be called meritorious. We exert and battle ourselves, kill our weaknesses and wage a contest against odds that pull us down to get to our new goal. And when we get there, it’s not enough.

Many a times we save our selves for the grand finale. And suddenly, it’s not grand anymore.

I urge you to fell the stillness in accepting that the race will never be over and when you begin to hurt yourselves too much to shine – choose to be the audience instead. Just sleep! and before you do, just take the time to gaze up at the night sky. Bask in the silence, take deep breaths, and just marvel at this universe.

You’ll never know what you may see up there. And trust me, it’s going to be every bit as beautiful. Because by that time, you’ll learn the beauty of being ordinary.

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Ink!

14 Nov

This universe is magnificent. It’s enticing and beautiful, and out of all the material and nature that co-exist, humans surprise me the most. .

Look around you. There is so much of miscellany in gray matter, in hearts, personalities and other argots embedded in literature. Every single person imbibes a discrepant story – an anecdote that is a mess of emotions, responses, wars, dreams and decisions!

Yes, a mess. Wrecked.

This turmoil is amazing, you and I are amazing.The glitches and deficiencies that we have are curtained and compensated by the prodigious influence we have on minds. We destroy and reinforce moods. We shatter and mend each other. Romanticize, hate, admire and ignore – dimensions that we en-kindle consciously and sub consciously.

 

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Have you ever pondered about how much you prevail in other people’s lives?

People may think of you when shaky hands dwell over a cigarette in an hour of desert, when a song comes up, when they read a recommended book or revisit rotten albums. Do you ever wonder about conversations and tales that you might be a part of and you’ve forgotten or alienated?  I wonder, do I still breathe in the minds of people that I don’t talk to anymore? How many times in a day do I pass through someone’s head?

This is addiction.

These thoughts have now built houses in my voice box. They are there, content and glazing.

Eventually, there is one sentence that settles me down.

We’re ink. Volatile and permanent at the same time. We fade, yet our presence remains beyond question. Oh humans!

 

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