If the hurt comes
so will the happiness.
Some stories are filled with tragedies. Others are fiction.
She learned that from her own story, when her chopped hair hit the floor of the car.
Despite her constant attempts to not fake a smile, and his to reconcile, they just never seemed to click. Was it love? Or was it just the feeling? It would always be a mystery to her.
Here she was, simple as the pallid sand, and he, the blue ocean, washing away her senses.
It was a long time before she began to wonder whether he was the solution- or just a distraction. For him, every problem was too small, every question too silly.
“No one cares, sweetie.”
The words “nothing” and “forget it” became the norm of her everyday. A repetitive stretch, as his monotony became her constant.
“Ah but you got away, didn’t you babe?”
He was what they call a new chapter- she only made the mistake of choosing the wrong page, each word carved an ode to his lies. Why was it so hard to notice the worn edges? He was the simplest form danger could be spelt in.
And yet, he always left her as conflicted as the October weather.
It must be a talent, to get oneself so
tangled in toxicity,
and still not miss the feeling
of air in their lungs.
Forever running in circles, always chasing a Neverland.
As her head rested on the steering, she realised that all she always had was his promises, not him.
He was too wild of a spirit to ever stay, too bright of a fire to ever settle.
But that was then; when every step had a spring, every song had his name. Every wind was his whisper, every sunset their home.
That was then.
This is now.
She had no choice, but to forget it all, along with the false hopes she had held onto. The 3 a.m. roof escapes, the late night talks, that kiss under the stairs and that god-awful smile.
Because fading into him was not an option anymore- she had to be her own star.
Her poems can’t be about his eyes, she would learn to write about her own scars.
To control the fickleness of her mind, the fragility of her heart.
To learn patience, to embrace blue yesterdays.
Because her time will come.
“When?” Asked the mirror.
She smiled.
“When it will.”
***
+Manushrie Verma+
The best you’ve done. Mind blowing. This is a masterpiece
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All I have is respect and pyar for youβ€β€
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Had been waiting for another one for a long time.
Worth the wait.
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You kill me with your words.
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Amazing work I love this!
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You articulate your thoughts so beautifully. More poetess than writer, I believe. π
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Oh my god you’re so sweet. :’)
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Very soon….I had to complete your last line. That goes to show how much i enjoyed reading the post. Well tailored and easy to relate to it. Nice one.
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This has to be the best thing anyone has ever said about my work. Thank you.
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You are welcome dear and I mean them. See you at the top.β
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Oh my God you write so well.Your words have a nice flow and they are intriguing!:-)
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That’s such a sweet thing to say, thank you π
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So much emotion and depth weaved into every line! This is wonderful writing.
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Very well done. You are very talented. Do you write longer works too?
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Thank you so much. As of now, I am more focused on improving my writing, so I stick to short stories. But who knows? One day I might just be on the front stands of city books stores.
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I wrote poetry for 20 years and then took up short stories. So far, the longest piece I’ve written is a little over 30,000 words. You’ll get there.
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Thank you for the advice! It’s really motivating.
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Trust me girl, you can move stones with these words.
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Loved the narration of her journey to self-realization – kudos
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veiled snowflakes winter confetti
on the piste on bended knee
your words of unrequited love
I felt your pain give him the shove
a snowflake veil, love short lived
find a glacier full of meaning
love flowing ever forward true
you’ll know truelove its precious
the twinkles in each others eyes
those twinkles do not tell lies
Veiled snowflake, I just cant get them out of my mind. Its like writers block, veiled snowflakes, OMG I thank you for your wonderful, but sad poem, now its coffee time!
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As with you other offerings, I love this story….and, the artwork…I forgot to mention that regarding the first post I read…you are very talented…thanks for sharing π
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Thanks love. π
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π
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That one line … ‘Her poems canβt be about his eyes, she would learn to write about her own scars.’ Genius.
Just sayin’.
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Thank you π
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Most welcome.
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beautiful! >,,,<
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