She had been trying to hide me all day long.
Her eyes are fixed on the ceiling. To an outsider it may seem as though she’s listlessly staring at the wall but I know what she’s really looking at. All the memories are played by her mind and she relives it all; the joy and the sorrow.
She is watching him walk out on her and her mother for the billionth time. The memory evokes longing for a father she never saw. She bites her lip to keep me from getting out.
Hang in there, she’s telling herself over and over again. Her hands are tightened in fists as I tickle the back of her eyes. “No” she whispers under her heavy breath.
In a distance the screeching sound of the breaks of a car are heard. The leaves rustle against her window sill as the soft breeze caresses them. The dark night resonates her mind but I hope she can see the faint flicker of stars at night and begin to live again.
She holds her breath, she knows I’m making my way out.
She forces me to stay one last time but gives in eventually. She closes her eyes and lets out a deep sigh. As I trickle down her cheek I hear her thoughts, Why am I so weak?
Trickling softly down her flesh I wish I could tell her how strong she really is. It takes courage to let me go. As I bid farewell silently, I pray that she will remember me someday when she’s happy.
Free those tears.
The pain will ease,
Melting your fears.
Remember them again,
When happiness blooms.
This isn’t the end,
You’ll know it soon.
“Her lips traced her laughter, her lungs could barely contain the joy”.
The music was loud and people I called my friends laughed with me. A minute has passed and we’re still cracking over some lame joke. An incongruous feeling settles deep inside my heart. I feel it getting stronger with each passing minute.
I’m still laughing while my mind plays flashbacks that I thought I had forgotten; old faces and memories still reside safely in the back of my head.
My heart can barely take it. The images inside my head are so vivid I don’t know what’s real anymore. I’m choking on my laughter. I’m happy, right?
Laughing doesn’t help me forget anymore,
It only brings back memories I love and loathe.
In my first post I wanted to delve into the aspect of letting go.
Often we end up getting confused between two questions- ‘How to let go?’ and ‘When to let go?’.
Lately I’ve been teaching myself the concept of letting go. You see, that’s where I went wrong. It’s not a concept but an art. How, you might ask.
What are poems or artwork? Is it something that an artist forces himself to feel to paint the canvas with vibrant colors? Can poems be weaved together if the poet has no feelings?
All emotions when channelised towards a medium, be it paper or a canvas, contribute to art.
Not only does it relieve us of our pain but also helps to clear our minds.
Previously I was trying to grasp the logic behind letting go, I decided to approach it later as an art. I starting putting down my thoughts. Words made the whole process easier than any consolation, pity or piece of advice I might have been bestowed with.
It was like pricking your finger on a thorn,
While you could always caress the rose.
For me, this was letting go,
Of past, comfort and hope.