Friday, 28 March 2014

The love of wrath.

"...maybe we have to break everything, to make something better of ourselves."

So, why is it that you don't stop? 
I love to not stop. To keep dreaming, to work harder, in fact hardest, not just mentally, but also physically, till I'm full of pain and scratches, till I've done justice to my definition of Everything.

I used to tell myself that the truth behind it is to run away, from those thoughts that make me want to kill myself, but this version is not as apt as the real one. 

The real one? 
Yes, the real one is happiness. Work makes me happy, I'm choosy of course, but I've known myself enough to now pick up the right set of things. I make others happy, this makes me happy. 

Then why run away from some? ignore some? avoid some?
Choices. This path of happiness is very difficult to maintain. I have to choose the right ones that live along the same lines. This comes with a price. I think I pay for it. 

Still caught up in the infinite hatred for yourself? 
I have changed. Way too much. I love myself now. Took me a while to realize this though, but apart from you, I love me as much and a few more lovely people. 

P.S. 
Sometimes, we're a part of such a transition, that looking behind isn't an option anymore. I think I have all of you, to thank, for that. Thank you.


Tuesday, 11 March 2014

Fear.

The little girl knew nothing of what fear ever was.
It watched her grow hiding in the corners behind those unlocked doors, while she played with her toys in the house.
It stood in the rain, watching as she danced in the rain in the porch with her mother.
It peeped in the nights, when she slept between her mother and father.
It stared on her face as she lied on the bed with closed eyes.
It sat in the car's rear seat, as she drove away thinking of being free.


As she walked beneath the moonlight in the pavement between the steep and the lake, he watched her pass across it on the way, and as she took two steps ahead, he grabbed her from behind, made her fall and ran away, reminding her that it was back.
Fear. Darker, stronger, and larger.
Fear of men. Of their presence.
Strange, it was about to engulf her.
All she could do was let it consume herself, as she wrote this down to be read by you.


P.S.
Strangely, I've been scared of men. Always. In different ways.
This made it very real for me to accept what had always existed.