She, She was like the fire. Crazy, wild, bold, strong, daring and ferocious. She was like those flames filled with the majestic innocence of the blue and the liveliness of yellow, the passion like orange and the rage like red.
She was the type of girl you never would dream about. Atleast he did not. She was nothing like those cute dolls who are dependent on you.
She was free. She controlled herself, she molded herself. Sometimes she burnt too bright, sometimes too dim. But, she never stopped burning.
What drove her was her passion for life. Passion for what she loved or whom she loved. Passion for what she desired made her eyes shine. The shine full of flames. Flames that showed she was alive. Flames full of stars.. Stars like dreams.
And she was proud. She was proud to be the fire people wrote about but never could meet. She was the fire writters wrote poems on yet never could dream of seeing her alive. But then, she realised.
She realised that when a fire burns too bright, it dies. It dies and turns into ashes. Dark. Cool. Passionless. Dry.
Ashes that were opposite of what she was, who she was. Ashes was who she became.
She was tangled, tangled within the web of lies. Tangled with oblivion filled withing her.
She was obliviously tangled.
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Oblivious And Tangled
RandomEveryone in this world lives in oblivion. We spend most of our lives being. Oblivious and confused, like tangled within oblivion. It is like a new world, a world we are unaware of. This book contains short stories of different people who are living...
