All the times i have found my train compartment empty, the feeling of being alone never crept into me. All the times I have been squashed by the crowd, the feeling of insecurity never bothered me. All the times I have walked alone, I never tasted solitude. All the good moments without you didn't materialize. Maybe, the blame was to be solely vested upon your words. No. Not your words. The culprit had been my trust. My trust in your words. Why blame those meaningless innocent units of language when you, out of your own accord, are willing to just let go of your grip? When the unwavering faith decides to perch upon a not-so-balanced branch of words spoken out of the effect of stars, I guess. The resultant period was one of the best in my life. When life's contradictions start making sense to you. When in the sweltering heat, all you feel is the warmth of the morning sun. When you listen to rubbish, all you can do is grin. Without knowing that you yourself are becoming so(rubbish), just creating a parallel world, a parallel space with a box of cards only to be caved in with the lightest of the wind. But you believe. You believe that such a colossal feeling of love is in these little things. It is imbibed in these little moments.
Until one day, the space you manouvered cringes, the world comes toppling down and all that remains are the fragments of those good split seconds you've had, hanging around in the dust. Then you know life is about the big decisions. Decisions on when to stay and when to leave. On when to give up and when not to. When to grip the hand and when to let go. And once your unwavering faith had perched upon a not-so-balanced branch of words, you come pelting down. Hit your head, your face full of muck, nose smashed, eyes screwed up against the dirt, hands shrivelled and feet twisted.
Recovery isn't impossible. All the more a full state recovery is indeed more than possible. You'll be back in your feet in no time. Embracing life with a little uncertainty, a little doubt, a little fear, a little apprehension, a little regret, a little resentment. Just a little. Not more. You are not depressed. You have just changed. The best part of your self consolation is that you can keep telling yourself, it's all in the 'big decision of the choice of your branch'. And it transpires only after you have comfortably settled on it. In the end though you will pick yourself up from the floor, wipe your hands on your clothes and leave. Limping a little. Just a little.
That's the problem with feelings and memories. They refuse to give up. They still cling on waiting for the branch to regrow itself.
But never to worry. The smile would fade. The feel of the grip would fade. Those eye locks would fade. Those stolen secrets would fade. Everything would grow dim. And you would cover it up, mash it up with the new. With the sanctioned new. You will smile again. You will realise again. You will be happy again.
But the faded substances will persist. Just a little. Here and there. The smile. The grip. The moments.
Don't worry. You will be faded. Just a faded picture to be carried to the grave. Faded. Still it's there. Just a little.
Until one day, the space you manouvered cringes, the world comes toppling down and all that remains are the fragments of those good split seconds you've had, hanging around in the dust. Then you know life is about the big decisions. Decisions on when to stay and when to leave. On when to give up and when not to. When to grip the hand and when to let go. And once your unwavering faith had perched upon a not-so-balanced branch of words, you come pelting down. Hit your head, your face full of muck, nose smashed, eyes screwed up against the dirt, hands shrivelled and feet twisted.
Recovery isn't impossible. All the more a full state recovery is indeed more than possible. You'll be back in your feet in no time. Embracing life with a little uncertainty, a little doubt, a little fear, a little apprehension, a little regret, a little resentment. Just a little. Not more. You are not depressed. You have just changed. The best part of your self consolation is that you can keep telling yourself, it's all in the 'big decision of the choice of your branch'. And it transpires only after you have comfortably settled on it. In the end though you will pick yourself up from the floor, wipe your hands on your clothes and leave. Limping a little. Just a little.
That's the problem with feelings and memories. They refuse to give up. They still cling on waiting for the branch to regrow itself.
But never to worry. The smile would fade. The feel of the grip would fade. Those eye locks would fade. Those stolen secrets would fade. Everything would grow dim. And you would cover it up, mash it up with the new. With the sanctioned new. You will smile again. You will realise again. You will be happy again.
But the faded substances will persist. Just a little. Here and there. The smile. The grip. The moments.
Don't worry. You will be faded. Just a faded picture to be carried to the grave. Faded. Still it's there. Just a little.
