A necklace of hope.

Ghosts do exist.

  1. The first time she was haunted by one was when she fell in love. When he kissed her for the first time, her hands found his hair, but her thoughts could not find a reason to believe that he would stay. She opened her eyes mid-way, and looked at him and all she saw was her fear. She felt sweat on her forehead, as she pulled away. Her eyes darted here and there as she saw flashes of the last time someone had promised to stay and hadn’t. The ghost of empty promises and broken hearts left her tongue dry. He did not seem bothered at all.
  2. He believed in ghosts because they just wouldn’t let him be. Every time he decided to move on, and build himself a life he wanted, the ghost of the expectations of his parents tied his hand behind him, and slowly choked his will to believe. His wrist had scars of him trying to untie himself, but they were mere reminders of his shattered hopes and dreams.
  3. She just could not forget what he had done to her. Every time she went on a new date, tried to move on, he popped up in her thoughts. She loved him. She still did. How can she move on knowing that he was what she wanted. She wanted expensive champagne, and cheap nail polish and warm blankets with him by her side. The ghost of her past haunted her on every new date, and she just could not let it go.
  4. He did not want to hurt someone. He feared power and authority for the sole purpose of staying unable to inflict pain. He did not trust himself enough to believe that if given the chance, he wouldn’t choose himself over others. He knew that choosing oneself is how you progress, but not at the cost of someone he loved? The ghost of his darkness made him fear himself.
  5. She had lost her friend. Every time she sat on her terrace and gazed at the city that was unaware of her loss, she saw shadows of her friend sitting beside her, a cigarette embraced in her fingers, a carefree smile reaching her eyes. One that is lost can never really be lost again. And so she held onto the ghost of her friend, a shimmering and fading image that made her believe that maybe it would all be okay.
  6. There was no way out of this. He sat in the corner of his room, tears running down his red cheeks. Everything seemed to collapse on him, and he just could not pick himself up again. He wanted to believe, he tried to, but there was nothing to believe in. No hope bloomed in the garden inside his chest. The ghost of hopelessness held a knife to his wrist, and as the blood trickled down, he felt free.

We are all haunted in some way or another. We just have to hold on and believe in ourselves. Ghosts do exist, but just in our heads.

Hope.

“I hope to arrive at my death, late, in love, and a little drunk.” – Atticus


Previous post : The Writing Project.
Related post : You, the universe and stardust.

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Love thyself.

Hey.
I believe that there are so many of you out there who deserve to be read, and heard. So, I am starting a project, wherein I will post compositions made by you on my blog throughout March (and to spice it up a bit, giveaway a book to the author of my favorite post). I’ll choose fifteen of the submissions to post in the month of March. The compositions can be poetry, short stories, or anything you’re mind is dealing with. Love, chaos, society, peace, war, pets, or any other topic you can come up with, go ahead and send it to me. It shouldn’t have been posted anywhere else. (This is for me to be able to provide my readers with new content by new authors.)
DM it on : Instagram, Facebook
Mail : utsavraj3@gmail.com
Or just drop it in the comments. Please do participate, it would turn out to be an amazing month if you do. The giveaway book will be one of my favorites, or yours. We’ll talk it out when you send me your compositions.
For now though, enjoy this post!


“Draw a monster. Why is it a monster?” – Janice Lee

Monsters aren’t people,
They aren’t under your bed.
There’s only one.
The one inside your head.
The one that promises every night
That nothing will be okay,
That life isn’t fair;
That you’re miserable.
The one you believe.
But “every monster
has a sob story.”
You have to listen to,
and talk to,
and love
The monster inside of you.
Because no one else ever did.
You make monsters
and you can heal them.
This is not a war,
This is the first step
you have to take
To love yourself.
Just be careful.


Previous post : Then how come it isn’t?
Related post : Snow.

Hope and caution. 

“If only you knew how terrified I am.” – Unknown

I’m the pieces of a puzzle no one wants to solve. Not even me. Why would I when it will only make an abstract image that makes no sense? Why would I when I’ve been told time and time again by my own heart that I am not worth it, that I am not good enough?

Fears reside in the darkest corners of our minds. They’re the monsters I fight. The demons I try to contain. They’re my invasions. I know I’m not perfect, and I know no one is, but I’m just a tad bit more imperfect than you, and that just haunts me.

I don’t know what makes me imperfect, but something does and I’m pretty sure people get annoyed when I talk too much about it. Every time I say something, I’m afraid that soemthing will go wrong. Every word of mine is wrapped in hope and caution.

I’m afraid. I’ve always been. And so when I’m asked about my story, I just smile like it’s no big deal and ask them to repeat theirs for the thousandth time, and I find joy in the subtle changes in the story that they make to make it more memorable and perfect. Every time they speak about scars, I close my eyes and feel the skin under my sleeves tingling with sensations of blood and pain. I smile and talk about how beautiful they look in their crop tops and funky hats. Every time I burst with excitement and say something stupid, I stay quiet and regret it for the rest of the day. Everytime I have a story to tell, or a new hobby to show, or just want someone, I just listen to music and find my solace in the pretty words and crazy beats.

Every time I am at a party, I dance a little softly and eat not at all, because I want to be invited the next time too. Every time they crack a joke that I don’t understand, I laugh anyway because I’m sure I’ll understand the next one. Every time someone shares their food, I ask twice and then confirm one last time before having the smallest piece I can find, and saying Thank you. I want to have more, but I wait for them to offer.

I dont have a best friend. Unless you consider 234 pages of a white notebook that I carry with me everywhere a friend. I don’t write diaries because I don’t understand the idea behind it. But I do write poetry which reflects my life as a beautiful world and me as a happy being. But sometimes, it’s sad and just not good enough. Quite like me.

They call it Atelophobia.


Previous post : Kiss me slow.
Related post : Love thyself.

Friends, if you like reading my work, do share it with your friends (on whatever social media you deem appropriate). It would be amazing to have more people reading my compositions. Please help my infinity grow bigger ∞