Kindness is one thing you will never regret.
If you can't mend or atleast try to mend the destructed around you, then your existence is of no good use.
More often than not, things start getting out of your hands and you pass as the time passes you.
You get consumed by something so poisonous yet so addictive that when you try to get rid of it, it has already taken hold of you.
Your spirit shatters, your soul mere smoke and your determination is all but present.
You become a secondary character in your own story and start finding escape in anything you find worth escaping into; may it be good or bad.
Sins start filling you up and your faith hides somewhere in the dark corners of your soul, leaving you empty.
That's the time when you need a friend, an ear who can listen to you. As they all say, a shoulder to cry on. Or as I would say; a healer.
Healers are the least talked people in our world of misery. Everything seems fine and every effort seems bearing fruit unless another ghost inflicts the calm epochs of damaged minds.
After that, the mess, it all starts over again and all the efforts go in vain.
That's one of the most terrible kind of frustrations one can ever face; holding on to things when nothing seems to work; trying when there is nothing left to try; believing in things which once used to exist and now, no more.
Despite all the violence, a healer continues to mend other's strings when he, himself, is far beyond any kind of repairing.
That's the beauty of the things which consume you; for better or worse, you become so lost that you find a meaning out of all the loss.
"Go slowly, my beloved moon. Go slowly!"
She sang in almost whispers. A calm night blanketing her head with its vast sky weaving stories for her to read.
I had read the lyrics somewhere in a book.
"You like that song, don't you?"
I asked an obvious question.
"I like how it slowly walks as I walk. How it knows the next step I am going to take. How it always eventually shines bright.
How it gives me one last needed hope in this hopeless world.
How it Reminds me of someone very dear."
She was melting under the serene moonlight now.
"Why are you asking it to go slowly? Why are you asking it to go at all?"
Believing in the notion that to love is to possess, I let out another remark.
"It must go for it has to unveil the day.
It must go for there is a whole lot of another world longing to see the day unlike me.
It must go for it has to keep the life living.
And going is what it will do. What matters is that I shall be right here when it returns."
Her skin had gone pale and what once melted was now shattering into uncountable bits.
She was a lunatic whose waves were hopelessly drawn to that one moon.
And in that drawing, storms prevailed across her shores, washing off her sharp ends to mere molten wax. She was being consumed by her longings.
