The roads are crowded.
So crowded that we aren't able to see our own shadows, let alone see our own selves.
Crowded are the people around us, some with gaiety and others with grief.
Crowded are we, with a lot of things hidden behind the very folds of our subconscious.
Crowded are we, with the lame thoughts that will not even matter after few years.
We're all crowded.
Suffocating from our own crowded thoughts, crippled by the loss of things which were never actually our own, and ungrateful for the things which we were destined to achieve.
We're all the same here, but yet, all so different.
Minds in one hand, hearts in another, chins down and heart beats fast.
A thunderstorm of vocabularies going inside our heads, but yet, only a few words sticking to our lips.
If this is not insanity, then what is ? Tell me.
YOU ARE READING
The Untold Stories.
Short Story// 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 ...
