"🌻Her Secret Diary, His Secret Admirer🌻"

17. "An age of Red Wine"

17. "An Age of Red Wine"

11 November, 2023

.11-11-2022

"Dead Still Alive"

"Pattering; Shattering; Scattering across the wall;
Broken; Hollow; Empty embracing the fall;
Bleeding; Rushing down to kiss the drain;
Whisper; mere a mumble desperate for call.
Sliding; dripping down leaving the stain.

Breathing! How sinful it feel to breath!
Flying! I'm trying to fly like smeath;
Nerves breaking down- it's the magic of meth;
Turning gaze to him- gulping limp down is eath.
Lost! I'm lost; sitting far from beth.

Drag me, pull me, carry me away;
Screams, I'm gulping them only to sway;
Scratching! Digging! Unrevealing my deeds;
Hold me beneath the warmness of warm ray.
Let me taste it, Let me feel it, let me hide it away from my beats."

As my fingers slid down, tracing the black ink marks on paper, I felt something rolling down to my cheeks. To my amazement those were tears, I'm fucking crying!

But reading her words are like let her words stab my heart. Don't know why or how but I know what's hidden behind these words. The page on which her words are written, not only have black ink marks, but they are litteraly stained with faded blood marks & this is making me feel crazy.

Is it her blood?

No, I can't be.

Has she ever tried to harm herself?

No, why would she. She was herself a spring & spring despises death.

Has anyone tried to hurt her?

I could be.

My subconscious mind kept asking me questions & I kept answering them, trying my best to not come to the conclusion, which I'll regret to make.

I closed her diary & leaned further to the leather of my car's seat. It's been 37 days since she left means one month & 7 days. But it's not like she was always with me, then why, now her absence is bothering me.

It's not like we were ever a thing or I'm habitual of her presence then why she is messing with my mind?

I asked myself punching the steering wheel which ended up producing a long, unpleasant horn. Then suddenly my subconscious mind replied, Because you found your spring within her in the admist of disastrous winter.
You found your beginning admist of end.
You found hope admist of losing.
You found light admist of darkness.
You found your moonflower admist of all the choas.

I closed my eyes once again, running my fingers thrown my hair in frustration. Why is she affecting me this much? After the night she left, neither I went back to Sinha mansion nor I answered Mr. Sinha's phone calls.

I don't know, it's hard to understand these emotions, right now I'm feeling the tempest of emotions & it's hard to understand or deal with them.

Reading her poems are feeling like she is talking to me for hope, for help, for rescue. Like she is herself telling me what's she feeling or bearing within her for so long & she just need warmness of her ray, the ray of hope, of assurance, of love, of care.