Mad. Mad. Mad.
Too quiet. So rude.
Short. Dark. Fat.
These were all the epithets she could remember.
I guess mad was used very often.
No. People did not care at all.
Self-esteem? Fucked so many times.
Kind words? People did not give a shit. Yes, exactly this she was told.
Afraid of her siblings, feeling alienated in her own house. She would run to her mom and dad and sleep between them.
The sad song playing on dad’s radio, gloomy feelings were filling her up and she was chocking.
Why she cried all night, she did not know. She had a strong instinct. Her feet were chained with liabilities.
Her skin was not bleeding. It was her heart.
She was nice healthy in her appearance, but with all this pain and suffering she could feel her healthy cells dying; with the speed of two cells per hour.
The pain was squinching her muscles. She needed hope; just a little to hold on.
Those feelings were too deep and she could feel it seeping into her bones.
What was it? Depression? Anxiety? Or the mother of all; fear of being left alone, all on your own.
She never wanted the sun to rise. But life was oozing out of her fist. Hourglass was fallen but the clock on the wall was still ticking.
The sound of that old song was playing in her head.
“What magic is it? What passion? My feelings are immortal. Um mm hmmm”
She noticed tearing pages of the calendar and his brother covering his jagged notebook with it.
“God, come and rescue me.”
“Please God please come down. I don’t have anyone with me.”
She was shouting this in her head and heart.
Few people to cry with and world asking her to not see them daily? Why? Why?
How is that possible? Or is she over possessive about them?
And one night, God came down and He was alone too. No companions, no parents, and no children even no one was like Him. The whole universe he created and all got busy with their partners.
Was she really lonely after all?
God was there to teach her. How to walk the path. How to wear this loneliness as He does.
He asked His favourite people to read!
And she started…
Reading the life stories of now dead people. People thought she was wasting money on books. But she knew this was the lifetime investment. She was buying people and stories and the lesson they have learned.
The best thing was, she will be experiencing all the things without really experimenting with her own life.
Families started to shed.
People changed places and then countries.
The world was rotating and she could feel this shifting under her bare feet.
“What would you do after us? You must be lonely.” People inquired.
“I would read,” she replied.
And at that moment. She saw God disappearing; into her heart.
She was now one body but now never alone. Her heart became a holy place.
She screwed the cap of her pen and closed her journal thinking, thinking while going on her bed:
“To write your own story, you have to time travel to your terrible days and dive in the ocean of memories buried under time and swim near those dark surfaces of your life which gives you chills even today.”
Best poetries were not written in bright days but on dark nights when your soul awakes.