Mark Twain once said, "When all else fails, write what your heart tells you. You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus." So, that's what I'm going to do.
Well, it's cold, mind-numbingly cold and my fingers are blue from all this typing, but there’s a story that needs to be told; the beginning of everything that now has to be set free. So here it goes-
Friends of the past. Long breaks apart which were never relevant, but one left too soon. Gone by her own means leaving the other raw, clueless and a little broken. Over time she learned to accept that past tense applied whenever they referred to her. Soon, it got a little easier to breathe, a little easier to live. Her hands didn't shake as much, and the heaviness she felt on her chest lifted slowly and gradually. But here she was again slowly coming apart piece by piece, little fragments on the floor that was once her life and the people who were supposed to matter were the ones who broke her instead. They didn't realise it, of course, and how could they when she was an artist of disguise, a master of illusion from years of pretending to be okay. So, she decayed one dull leaf at a time. But here's the thing with decaying plants; they rejuvenate back every spring, just waiting for their season to blossom.
She may be asleep now but she is patiently waiting for her season. For she knows when she blooms, it will be worth every pain and hurt she went through on her journey of becoming a brilliant individual. She died a little and then was born again, only to emerge stronger.
But here's the thing: don't we all?
-Resa Narim
B.Com (Hons.)
(Edited by Guniya and Pallavi
Art curated by Pallavi)
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