It’s therapeutic, they say when you pen down what ails you. Why, then I’m lost in this mire of words every time I write my thoughts out. It’s not that simple to come out of this cesspool of human emotions.
There is so much welling up inside, but there is no vent for it. People who profess they understand, doesn’t even know what it is to understand someone. They like the idea of you, they admire the-social-you-the-outer-you. nobody even bothers to feel you, listen to the words you haven’t spoken but had them on your lips. Nobody reads between the lines, in between the glances you give sideways.
And, then comes day when I’m so done with looking around, I’m tired of expecting and resort to only one person who has always known me the way I am – Me, Myself.
Oh, the girl within me has kept all my secrets tucked in a beautiful vintage looking trunk, and from time to time, she dusts it and open the leaves and reminds me the beautiful moments of my life, the pain and hurt I had endured, the decisions that made me what I am today.
This girl, who lives within me, she sits by me during sunset and we both look at the setting hues of sun with awe.
Is she enough for me? She knows me, she is one with me, she is me, but is she enough?