The Good place

2-454-927

Sometimes, the people you have in your life are so beautiful and magnanimous and all other sorts of praises, you tend to fantasize about them. This is my fantasy.

Today,
I
am going to tell you a story.
But, beforehand,
Let's play a game.
A game I like to call - On this day!
On this day, you gave me a big, broad, beautiful smile.
Lets try again.
On this day, you gave me a big, broad, beautiful smile
One kiss.
Two kiss.
Please stop skipping the lines
I cannot get cheesier than this.
That's it.
That's it , I am done.
I am home.
That's what I was looking for.
A smile so otherworldly,
like out of a folklore
as the slender fingers try to conceal it.
You don't need to hide it.
For such feats are fruits of luck
along with the butterflies in your stomach.
Not a lot can accomplish that combination.
Remember this feeling.
Remember the world- kneeling.
You deserve it.
The girl in the story deserves it.

So, today I am going to tell you a story.
Your story.

Act one.
Scene one.
Dark but not gory.
A world not unlike this one.
I mean it was round but, smaller.
A lot smaller.
A world which grew with you.
The citizen count was two.
Your mother’s womb,
which could only carry darkness and you,
not unlike a tomb.
It’s okay to be scared.
Until a bright light just tears through
along with a red tint.
It’s okay to be scared.
Until you open your eyes to the scary light
and a monstrous hand pulls you within.
It’s okay to be scared.
Until you scream.
You fear you'll die without a sin.
And then you open your eyes
in a maternity ward.
And then you see someone besides,
in a cage similar
to the cord.
And a similar hide.
And then you confide.
And then you realize
that you were not alone.
You need not be scared of the Boo-boo.
His eyes like a mirror saying,
“It’s okay to be scared.
Right there with you”
Right there with you.

Who is that?
Is he going jump?
The people under the bridge had no clue.
Act one.
Scene two.
Then there were how and hoots
as you entered with a pair of cups
and no boots.
He screamed,
“Stay away or I’ll jump.”
“How do you like your coffee-
Creamed or uncreamed?”, asked you.
He looked at you, as if dumb.
“Personally, I think creamed is a dump.”
He sighed and he sat down, as he chose a cup.
His eyes scanned a crowd, like a lost pup.
You handed him a pill.
‘C’ for cyanide, it had etched.
“Thus, the coffee, I fetched.
And also, so you can tell me your story.”
“There’s no story.
‘cause stories have losses but,
opportunities,
monsters but,
happy endings,
tits but,
tats,
hate but,
love.
vices but,
choices.”, he blurted.
“But, For me
death is the only choice that splurted.”
“I disagree.” said you.
“As of, right now you have a choice,
Of dying while sipping your favourite drink
as the sun’s fate, for the day,
is on a brink.
But, then again, you take a pill, you’ll choke
painfully.
Pain is not the way of dying
successfully.
Or you could just jump
as the clump
of people
are eager for it but,
you may not create a ripple.
you could be left a cripple.
They’d be disappointed.
You don’t want to disappoint so many people, again.
Do you?
Or you could it both.
Take the pill and avoid disappointing the blokes.
Jump then, before it chokes.
Or you could just rewind
and look for the choices you missed.
Or you could just unwind.
Unaware of the choices you missed.”
You could just unwind.
Unaware of the choices you missed.

Be patient.
I understand it's a long story.
But, behold,
The most important section of Act one-
Scene three.
On your 65th birthday,
you received a gift
from the man you love.
“You'll definitely love it, by Jove.”
He twinkled
as you swindled
a look onto him
as you opened the wrapping;
over
a diary.
Your diary.
Your
forgotten,
untouched,
single-entry containing
diary.
It said,
“Dear Diary,
I am six.
So, I've cried enough for a lifetime,
that's a fix.
So, today I make a promise.
A vow.
Right here.
Right now.
I won't shed a tear,
not one, not more
whatever I bear,
even for a wound so sore.
So, today I make a pact,
I address you, in fact,
my anonymous recipient.
Years from now,
before the lights go out,
I will find you somehow
and you will listen
as on you
I will pour down my heathen.
But, till the point of time,
o’ human so fine,
Please keep this diary safe,
as safe as a shrine.”
You were bespectacled
and a little afflicted.
Your husband was seated
besides the fire,
your tears reflected.
He poured a cup of coffee
through the spout,
“No cream,” he smirked.
“So tell me, what do you want to cry about?”
So tell me, what do you want to cry about?

I know, that's not the real you
‘cause I made her up.
But, you got one thing in common
I didn't make that up.
You touched people’s lives.
No, you enhanced them.
You smile like a damsel.
The one that saves them.
You're strong like a woman.
Like all but, none of them.
The babe divided by the ridge,
the man on the bridge and,
the man you married,
who did not let you abridged,
and much more you helped ascend,
waiting to be the part of the next act.
A number in millions, to be exact.
You.
Your beloved ones.
People wish to be one of them.
I wish to be one of them.
Maybe the only of one.