A place where paintings are drawn through words.
But the colours are smeared by the rain of emotions.
Where proses are made poetic.
Cover image: Google Images
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There are questions we want answered. Some we need answered. Some answers we are not even ready for. But we still seek them. It's like looking for money in those money banks made of soil we used to have as kids. For getting the money, you have to break it open. It's a one time curiosity. Once it's broken, it's broken. You have got the answers. But there's no returning back. Still we do it. Hoping. Hoping we just might be able to glue it back. Hoping we just might be able to get back from where we started. Hoping that for just once, we might be able to alter our past. But that's not how it works right? It just shatters into a million little pieces, each piece looking up at us , as if mocking our curiousity. As if telling us that no matter what questions we seek, someone will always end up breaking. And there's nothing we can do.
