I have been staring at the piece of white sheet with horizontal lines on it with the pen just an inch away from making a blotch on it. I wanted to say that I have been thinking that entire time but I was too blank or dead within to even use that word. When was the last time the pen touched the paper? When was it that these papers were my solace and best friend? Do I even remember those days when I spent hours and hours pouring out my emotions to my dear papers and named them as SH (sweetheart) and loved them with every ounce of blood and sweat to spare?
Where is that person who did it all? Is she still there within me or the life which gifted me with beautiful bundles of experiences filled with thorns killed my bond with my sweetheart only to give me real physical humans with souls that could only empty me? I wonder.. i wonder.. as if I even gave the liberty to my brain to wonder…
There were the times, when I slowly took Step after step to just get into the pool of sorrow but SH stayed with me. It didn’t pull me up but gave me the peace that I felt once I had drained my heart through my eyes. I thanked the clarity I got when i went seeking for a mirror to look at there after - pour out and then wipe it to get up is astonishing.
The ‘never again’ mode was turned on in me and I never felt it again - with no arrow released from a bow would be let to hit my heart, SH went long forgotten collecting dust just as my soul; lay in the corner and went long forgotten.
And now I see someone working it’s way through a house of litter slowly plucking out each thorn and spider, working from smile to words. And then moved on to kindling back my likes. The mounds around the heart started breaking when songs were shared and books were spoken, little by little the sparks emerged and glowed.
There surely were moments when rain of tears hit the sparks back but there was always a hand to save the last glow and bring it all back. And finally it did reach to the soul when the question of “ok so why are you not writing anymore” came up.
SH was remembered for the first time not to stay with for pain but as friend in pleasure swelling up in my heart seeking for a home where SH could smile for me while I touch the pen on the paper I was staring at and forget the moments when she just had to be a shoulder she could never be and get eroded by dropping wetness
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