Darling!
Can
I sing one more song?
And
let my heart dance in joys
Of a
celebration of all the stars aligned
And
their victory in bringing them together.
Darling!
Can
I paint their union once more?
Of
them under a willow tree, holding hands
Lost
in each other in the name of star gazing
With
the vibrant colors of love.
Darling!
Can
I write one more poem?
And
let world know how lovers make me feel.
So
beautiful, magical, surreal and ethereal,
And
words fall short to define the beauty of love.
 |
| Pinterest Pic |
Hello!
A soft knock on screen and hesitant fingers on a keyboard as I gather my dying
confidence to write again. The excuses not to write mounted for days, extending
to weeks, months and a year, I need to stop before it trolls to decade then
forever.
How
I started?
Why
did I start writing then? A timid college girl was more confident behind screen
then, writing was an escape from the real world. A solace I found to keep
myself sane. Looking back, I can safely say that writing was a real savior. The
adrenaline rush I had when I made my first post public, waiting for the
judgement and criticism to seep in, of course, nothing big happened as people
hardly read what I wrote. That didn’t defer my confidence to write all shitty
stuffs as I went on to write shittier stuffs. Writing and making it public was
huge step for an introvert person, I was baring my soul through it. I was
letting people see what I actually felt. A naive girl in pursuit of solace
wrote without caring the content or grammar, not that this-not-so-naive woman now,
heck care about the rules of writing a meaningful proof read article with embroidery
grammar decorated in poetic language.
An
escape plan perfectly worked out and I found myself at ease when I was writing.
There was this undeniable subtle joy in expressing without interruption, being able
to say what I felt and had it been not for writing, all hell must have broken
loose with a dying soul. The weight of suppressing your thoughts catapult in
the form of emotional outburst and breakdown. And I am not really good with
emotional stuffs.
Writing
was another excuse I gave myself not to study, the price for which I am still
paying. Not that I am complaining, because if I did something right then, this
is it, the blogging. To write again is to feel the adrenaline rush again as I hear
loud thud in left chest as if the heart is beating for the right reason again. Like
a lost child, I am finding my way back home. Scared of wandering for so long
but I know I am always welcomed.
Those
meaningless time consuming cringy articles, romantic short stories, emotional
prose and poems on loop, I may not be very proud but am definitely not ashamed
of what I wrote. If I have learned anything over time, it is to accept ourselves
with our flaws. Acceptance and self-love is the best gift we can give
ourselves.
Writing
held me tight during the hard times, celebrated all the joys and inked the best
moments down the memory lane and brought the best thing in my life. The only
way to be grateful for all beautiful things writing gave me is to write again.
