y o u

t w o

i've never felt so pained and pathetic, as i have today,
since morning.

i have been in this world for too long to know,
how cruel it is.

i have latin and economics tomorrow.
but honestly, i've done nothing all day, today
to bring myself to study anything at all.

all i've done since morning is,
just stare at the blank pale wall and
imagine things, i've ever wanted.

and really,
all of them, i felt:
impossibly far away,
impossibly out of my reach.

and even now, at 2am in the morning,
i'm only scribbling in my black notebook,
writing to you, despite knowing
how useless it is to.

mrs. hillans, yesterday, told me, that
life itself, was a broken dream.

everybody wants good things in life,
but hardly everybody achieve them all.

but, tell me, T
what if, every dream of yours
was broken, since, the first gasp of air you took?
what if, they never really cared, because they had to, but simply
because they felt sympathy towards you?

pity is my least favourite word, in
the dictionary.
it has been with me, every since i was born and also still with me,
while i struggle the battle of life, that
apparently, my fellow people are
easing for me, because
they feel bad,
how i won't live long enough.

for this one time, i will be honest
with you.

i was forever the invisible girl, in school.
forever, the one, everyone would stay away from.
mostly because, they didn't want to get attached to someone, who they knew
would leave so soon.
and never did i once, blame them for it.

i had always felt peculiarly away and alone, even when
cheryl had made a muddy mess of the lockers of half the invisible population of school, just to humiliate them, but
left my locker intact
and clean.

weird, but, i had cried myself to sleep, that day.
pity, was a harsh word against me.

you will know, only
if it was overused on you.

like a mock at your living,
like a mock at your existence.

i have always escaped detention and
the wrath of the teachers, too, sometimes
but these perks, still
weren't at all, worth it.

was it too much to ask for, to be
normal for once, at least?

is it my fault, i have my lung cells
dividing, twice and sometimes,
thrice,
the rate of others?

is it my fault that, i have to carry along the oxygen tank, everywhere I go, to breath in the required air?

or is it my fault, i am half the time depressed, and the other half
my mind mocking me with illusions, i never wanted?

and suddenly, i was reminded of how
my psychiatrist had told me about
the broken dreams of life.

i wasn't, anymore, bothered about my latin or
economics either.

i knew, life was but a stack of broken dreams,
but then, something made me realize,
even broken dreams were a help.

which is why i sit to write.

pieces of different dreams, when joined together,
is a bigger and a better dream.

life was, i now knew,
a stack of broken, but mendable dreams.