Nothing is worse than the unbridled emotions that ride at the pace of your heartbeats, jumps the fences of social barriers and falls in the dooms of reality to never get back up again.
The knees being weak enough to not being able to carry the dam brimming fervour calls for my fall at every feet that enters my isolated room.
There is a dawn to every dark night, they say. I didn’t hear them talking about definite rivers which could fade away the passionate fires that burns with the night and continues in the day to continue again in the night. The fucking never ending plight.
I feel too much. I think too much. Connecting the wrong kind of strings and mistaking them as my destiny which are mere coincidences ended me up like an empty pond waiting for monsoon in the middle of a never ending autumn. There is a lot inside of me. But not every story rich in subplots become a best seller. Some books are better kept locked inside the cupboards amidst the dusty old libraries that remain in as much solitude as my book. The pages inside of them might have fled away until now, unread and destroyed.
“It was too dark to locate me”, he said.
“I thought you were the light”, I said.
Reckoning it the very next moment as I had misread another piece of cold fire which has burnt probably more than me. Which doesn’t seek water no more, but seeks redemption in flying as ashes. Probably then it would touch and deposit on my pages which have flown from the book in the library. Mating at last. Too late for you to read me, too early for us to not meet. While I’d wait for you in the worldly world, you would rejoice me in the heaven of heavens for two worldly lovers were never done justice. Until they died to create history.