Scars are what we give to ourselves , not a result of those shattered dreams but it’s what we inherit and what we chose to pursue.
They are the feelings you can’t fathom or express, the reluctant words dying but afraid to step out.
It’s about the deepness of the scar. Its on you whether to dig the soil or to grow flowers after digging it. Its now or never, the seeds are counting on you.
Reminisce your mother’s warm hands rubbing gently and as serenely like the way the wind touches your body or a way in which a feather floats through the gushing city lights and loud evenings, her hands gentle on your wounds , crafted by that old squeaky swing in the garden towards the left of the main street, disguised in her rebuking , words were put together stitched perfectly with love , care came along dressed in a bottle of antiseptic and a handful of cotton.
And now after all those faltering and ransacking years , you let that care bleed , not thinking about it once or twice , is this what you call carte blanche ?
Gone are the times when you used to cry and whimper for that last scoop of ice cream or when that lovable woman untangled your hair, what followed was the outnumbered missed calls from her and voice mails drenched in worries.
Your eyes parched up with not a single tear , the worst is the feeling to cry your eyes off but all you can sense is nothingness and what steps out is anxiety.
It’s like you are conquered and caged by something you can’t define or like imagining to stay in the same place for the rest of your life, without even trying to escape.
To strangle the very thirst of passion is the hardest and the saddest thing one can think of.
Imagine reading a book, that you don’t want to or just a bunch of words that you can’t understand , over and over again.Dreadful is merely an understatement.
Now supposing that meaningless book (by your POV) to be your life, that is what someone goes through every day.
But there’s always a ‘what if’. What if someone hands you a pen or a sharpie, like a motive to totally re-imagine the book, write it up in an eccentric and different way, with profound doodling and sketching, this is what your life will sound – RAD is just the apt word for it, when you go up there and take initiative.
You have enough power to colour up something that is not even drawn or to water something that is not even planted, but all you have to do is do it at the right place and right time.
Now whose up for some German books? Eh….?