Art |

We will become strangers one day and none of us will even care about it.
Not even care about the smiles we shared.
Not even care about the memories we created.
Not even about the tears we gave each other.
.
We will just care about our Selfishness.
Just about ourselves.
Just about that moment when I hurt YOU and YOU hurt me to that extent that led us here.
Led us nowhere.
.
We will become strangers one day.
Ignoring each other’s sight like we were nothing to each other.
Like we didn’t know what we liked and disliked.
Like we didn’t know what made us smile and what made us cry. Of which we chose most of the latter one.
Like we didn’t had the memory of the nights and days spent. .
.
We will become strangers one day.
Physically.
Our souls screaming. Our hearts crying.
For us. .

It is okay to cry, to cry your soul out.
It is okay to feel vulnerable, to need someone.

It is okay.

But.. but.. It is not okay to suppress all these and lock them inside a box known as “societal insecurities”
Sometimes crying is all you need because you need to wet that dryland you created known as “I am fine”.

Yes, I need someone. I am not being dependent on someone else. Even if I am being I don’t care anymore.
I need another soul to feel my soul.
Love it, caress it, care for it, scar it in all good ways
And most importantly, want it as much as I want his.

It is important to cry once in a while or whenever you need to because you dont want to fill it and one day to burst like a grenade and hurt others, But most importantly hurt yourself.

You dont want that, Do You?

I want to see the silver lining on the sky of my own world but the clouds remain at their places just like my stagnant mind. Those clouds are known as “depression”

Those clouds gather and rain down on me . Those droplets are known as “insecurities”

In all these years, I learnt a thing.

Most of the times, the thing you create kills You.

Cancer, a thing created by the cells of the body, kills the body.

Bombs, created by humankind, killing humanity.

Social media, created to connect, kills self-esteem and gives birth to ego and fake masks

Hatred, created by human, kills love, also created by humans.

Frankenstein wasn’t the monster, He was the creator. But in the course of the novel became a slave.
And lastly depression. It wasn’t the monster, I was. But just like the novel, I became a slave.

And that’s the truth.

My cage of meat seldom show it on her face. But that’s okay.
I dont want people to feed it with sympathy and make it bigger than it already is. My hands jot down about it here there and everywhere. Giving it power to grow on me.

On my soul.

It is like that toxic relationship where the love controls you, hates You, looks down on you and eventually kills you. Kills your soul.

But everything is just fine.
It is feeding on my soul.

I am fine (HELP ME)

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Category Archives: Art

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