Work in progress. It's easier to write about pain and losses than about happiness and gains. At times, what I write is not necessarily my reality, but if you think it's connected somewhere, I don't deny it. What we write, often is what we are, what we think or what we wish for. #ShravanWrites #poet #poetry #poetsofinstagram #poetsofig #poetrycommunity #poetryofig #poetryofinstagram #poetryisnotdead #love #madlove #writing #writer #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #spilledink #instapoem #instalove #instapoetry #poetrycollection #book #amwriting #art #artcollective

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Between the lonely summer evenings and daunting winter nights, I do wish to be able to love again. To fall in love with someone, again. To be able to embrace them without fear of breaking apart yet again. It's so easy to break apart, but think of building yourself back from that. It's almost like moving a mountain. It makes me wonder if I'd rather be in the resounding silence of my room than to be drowning in pain and agony when time flies. Breaking apart is almost like withering away; pieces of what you once were, falling apart. What a daunting task it'd be to reconstruct yourself, after all that you have gone through!

Him & Her

All of the world's fictional stories would yet fail to contain the drama that real life holds. There is way too less that you could put in words compared to what happens in the grand stage of life. We are all nothing but mere pawns, in the hands of the greatest player ever, Time!*
How futile of us is it to try and hold on to time? To the past, to the grief. Time goes past us. We grow older; and then comes a moment when time would freeze. Death. Death, probably, would be the greatest liberators in this world.
I wonder how incredibly lonely would be that moment when you die. All your lives moments flashing through your mind, your eyes moist, of joy or may not. But knowing that your time has time. Would you regret the one life that you lived? Or would you smile and welcome it?
Death must indeed be so beautiful, to listen to the sound silence, to have no yesterdays, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace*

*1 - Quoted from the book "The Place of Illusions"
*2 - Quoted from Oscar Wilde.



How did it go the last night?
I only remember waking up with a headache. You probably left long before.

I don't seem to recollect what brought us together again. I remember us sitting down near the fireplace, ordering our drinks, one after the other.

I don't remember what I said. Nor do I remember what I heard. But I do get asked; in fact, a lot more than that I ever anticipated. Why do I still remember everything about us.

I must confess, the only thing that went in my mind was two years were enough to start all over again.

I must also thank myself for not spilling it out. Sure, I could have blamed it on the alcohol, but you, you would hear the unheard, understand the unsaid.

Today I can just bury it deep in my mind as an after thought of recollection of the past. Nothing more.
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