Life is not meant to be taken seriously. You get it?
‘Honest feelings and bad timing make the most painful combination.”
You are scared of getting hurt until you’ve not got hurt. But, once you get hurt, you cry your heart out, you realize that it is not death but just another phase and so you are no more scared of getting hurt again. You get used to it and then it becomes just another wound.
When you are a child,
No matter how strong you are,
It still does hurt when you fall.
And it hurts hard.
I am thinking something,
Lying little tipsy, about to fall asleep in maximum of two minutes I’m sure, but it’s been 4 minutes that I have been lost in my deep thoughts and now that I see the pattern forming, I woke up to write because it all made so much sense. But strangely when my fingers started typing, I couldn’t think a word and now I think I was half slept. I shouldn’t have waken up.
It feels like I have lost the purpose of my life somewhere. I don’t see any particular reason to live. There is nothing to be hopeful about. It’s like I’m living dead, letting days pass, waiting for death.
I don’t cry. I miss that. I’ve just learnt to bear the pain of the wound that I don’t know if someday will get dressed.
I’ve come so far from people whom I had never realized were my loved ones.
I came here with a lot of dreams. It doesn’t feel good to see all the bubbles burst gradually day by day.
23rd February, 2020
A piece I wrote when I was at my lowest while being back in Bangalore.
You know what, no matter how hard you commit something to yourself, but you do change for the loved ones.
I hated two things.
One – People calling “baby” in relationships.
Two- People calling loved ones “bacha”.
And when I say I hated them, then believe me, I was a die hard hater.
Because of someone, I’ve started loving the word baby like anything. It’s like now I crave them to call me that.
Because of my best friend, I’ve started loving the word “bacha”. She use to call me bacha. I use to kind of hate that. And now the scene is, I call her “bacha”.
I don’t believe at myself. It’s a change that was almost impossible to happen. But I guess you do change in love. And by change, I mean change for the good. Don’t you?
Strange. Isn’t it?
This is no poetry, prose. Just a random thought that I shared straight from my one note.
And also, I am finally back after months of inactivity due to cliché busy rat race life schedules.
Hoping to hear from you people.
Do share you thoughts and memories if any. 😀
The heart was not a slave, mind was not a master;
Fuel of her own heart, she was the ardent fire.
Nether to nothing, radical to everything;
Not a frigid rather a fervent, she was a rampant.
Chauvinist of her dreams, fanatic for her passion;
Sill a native, no more pandemic and now an endemic.
Corrupt she was in every eye. People spread a quietude.
As if she cared?
Kick of her passion,
Stirred her up!
Whipped her up!
Society was a no stall,
She was an extremist; Biased towards her life.
Had she shoved over their notions,
Then she had been a death, to her own passion.
She didn’t stumble over a society boulder,
Agitation was such.
Yes! Free spirit, she was.
And, I like one.
“I’m doing it now. The thing I should have done 10 years ago, but I’m happy. At least I didn’t delay in by 20 years.”
On occasion of the 1st anniversary of my blogging with Word Press and the Valentine’s day, I am glad to thank all those who have been the part of my blogging journey, for, this is the best thing that happened to me in 2018. Thank you everyone out there!
Wishing you all a very happy Year ahead!