Notes to the hurting

Healing will come to you at the unexpected moments. It might be one fine morning when you no longer feel your bones cracking as you struggle to get out of the bed. There will be no aches. No pain.

It might happen to you at the park nearby your house where you see a mother canoodling her baby and that itself brings a upward curve at the corner of your lips.

It might happen at the hour of noon, when the sunlight seeps in to your skin giving you warmth and making you feel alive once again.

It might happen at the onset of dusk, when along with the birds flying to their shelter, even you yearn to go back home. To yourself.

Finally it might happen at the tranquility of darkness, when healing slowly creeps on to your pillow, places beautiful dreams underneath it and you sleep, peacefully.

Healing will come, because you deserve all of it.

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Pride

The day you left was like a apocalypse waiting to happen for a long, long time.

My entire world came crumbling down, the moment you said goodbye.

As you left, a part of me also went along with you.

I craved, not for that part but for you.

But, I don’t regret letting you go.

You wanted to change my individual existence. You wanted to crush my identity, that I had established after eons and eons of toiling. And this, wasn’t possible.

I know, only magic can help me to forget all your memory.

But one thing that I could be always proud of is, I don’t regret letting you go.

The Shooting star

Velvety black sky,

Illuminated by the luminous white moon,

Millions of stars ornated the cloudless canopy, embellishing it more.

Down there, I sat in silence,

Profusely crying for someone,

Who was once, mine

The brightness of the night,

Seemed like a curse to me, on my fate.

Just then, I spotted a shooting star,

Followed by its long shiny trail,

Bidding goodbye to the farm,

Where it had always stayed.

Up there, it was still radiant.

The moon didn’t lose its glow and the stars continued to beam

I chided at the thought of the sky, for not crying

Over losing of one of its precious gem.

Have the sky, moon and stars perfectly learned the art of ‘to let go’?

Have they, really?