And the cold air of February makes me think of the days which I never want to recollect.
The month endures a pain within it. A pain, a loss which I've experienced years ago, but the marks are still with me, reminding me of the days when I had cried myself to sleep. The pain has something about it, though, as I've felt it piercing through my bones, but yet, felt like it's completing me, the real me. Just like the soil allows the wet rain drops to roam into its soul, the endless pain, too, has a deal with me, to fill my senses, to erapture my mind.
And with all the painful wind blows a little hope, a hope of how I overcame it all, a hope that stays hidden in my soul and gives it a new life. It consoles, that no matter whatever happens, wherever I go, whatever I do, I'll keep flying.
I'll keep flying.
YOU ARE READING
The Untold Stories.
Cerita Pendek// The Untold Stories. \\ " We're about the books we read, and the poems we love." - Kritika Banerjee. A collection of paragraphs, nanotales, poetry and thoughts from my journey. Highest Rank - #78 in short stories on 29/6/17 ...
