We Accept the Love we Think we Deserve

That's okay

You're afraid, but not the way you think you are. You're just scared to let your guards down. Scared of starting all over again with strangers.

And that's okay.

A Heavy Heart is just Misery Breathing Out Loud

He walked into the room, watching people boisterously fuel into fits of laughter. Merriment and happiness seemed so easy every time he glanced at them, which was pretty often, by the way. His humongous, heavy heart barely had enough empty space to function routinely. He did not recognise the problem as easily as he could feel it looming out of the blanch walls and cover his world in profound blackness.It was an enigma of all sorts, this abysmal low he was feeding on.

He kept waiting. Why? He did not know.

These people, did they not feel it?

Were they not being succumbed into the languid horror?

That little rebel inside him fought to death, breaking barriers and sinking alongside. Sometimes it could even imagine its soul floating at the surface of the fire, charred; scarcely aware of the dispassionate motive following far along. Maybe that's why it gave up every once in a while. Because every once in a while, it did get too much. But it held on there. For it knew, what the world perceives was momentary when measured against the strength it held

Why did he not say anything out loud? He did not know who would really be kind enough to judge or callous enough to use this piece of information to pull up one's own haughty business. After all, they'd all been ostentatious in ways larger than themselves. Only if he could find one sign, anywhere in the universe. That would probably be enough, wouldn't it?

Sometimes, he'd roll with the punched. The other times, he could hear his thoughts gushing forcibly out of his cranium, only to end up being inaudible to the world outside. The thoughts felt ascetic and could barely be kept out. The screaming would grow louder and louder. And with every bar of rising volume, it turned horrific and bellowed sticks and stones. His life, sadly, was an alternative between these two. And somewhere midst the shuffling, he was rendered numb and his eyes spake love. 

This ever musing tragedy that refused to leave his side made him feel deep like the ocean, when at edge of silence. Yet, at the very same time he felt at loss of words. He had tried to look back often, only to hear the shadows sing their songs of demise. But even walking forth seemed equally unattainable.

His fragile cocoon refused to crack open. Its only when a caterpillar feels its death approaching, that it transforms into a butterfly. He never claimed to be one, but hoped that somebody saw him as one and was intently waiting for him to fly off and do miracles! 

He was fugitive to his own reign.

Whether he was left, or did he leave. It wasn't much of a win-win either way. 

In shallow terms, he'd say he was a mess. And he probably was. But he felt like something more abstruse than just an emotional wreck. His agony reached heights of persistence, and these uncanny boulders of guilt and self-deprecation just did not seem to fit right with each other.

He believed he was an ultimate cry for help. In fact, it wouldn't hurt. But egotism prevented his foot from trembling even an inch; mendicancy was never his thing.

And just like that, he had one last gander at those smiles and glistening lights in the room, before walking out and feeling the cool breeze, relentlessly reminding him of the envious grounds, towards which he'd idly find himself drifting.