Tonight seemed as if it wasn't going to end any sooner. I felt myself drowning in the mess of my own thoughts blurring out my ability to think properly. I've tried and tried to let it all out but it always ends up as me writing myself to the point of obsession. Sometimes it even amazes me how much these pages with the scribbled perfect rhyme make me feel so happy. It's like serendipity that wraps me inside it's warm blanket like on a cozy afternoon when sunshine peaks through the window forming golden traces shining so brightly on a scorching June afternoon. But only if people were this pure as these ancient love sonnets.
They say to love insanely is a sin, to love an insane is a sin and even it is more insane when you love insanely when you're young and you know nothing. But I always knew I was the cursed one when it came to love.
It's exhausting to be a lover when you are a poet. Because when you're a poet you're too tainted to mess with the myriad of your wild emotions running loose in your mind chronically. Your phrases lose ambiguity and your mind is trying to look for what could've been the possible reason anyone would fall for this fucked up person- a writer.
Everyone in this world deserves and want to be loved eternally. So they open up the windows of their hearts for closure and warmth they crave. And some people are left with their hearts broken while some are left with their hearts complete and feeling blue. Love is a beautiful thing quite mystic and dreamy but only if you love the right person and they love you back. And this cycle keeps on repeating, one person likes the other and if that person likes them back, well they are quite lucky. But there's always the third person who likes one of them. The real problem occurs when reality starts meddling with the feelings of false love. This is when hearts break and people maim.
My life has always been this roller coaster of events which made me believe that I'm too tainted to love or too fucked up in the head above. From dreaming about fairies like love stories to writing about how exhausting it is to be me, let alone love me. It has been quite a journey. From writing about folklore to finally accepting sad endings and losing myself in subtlety fading writings stained on old and unread pages. It's all been quite a journey.
"It all happened on one ferocious February afternoon."
YOU ARE READING
February
Romance"It was one ferocious February afternoon when fates were sealed and she was the victim of her own fate". This is a story about making choices. We all tend to make choices in our life wisely but what happens when it comes to love? What happens when y...
