Day after day after day, the willingness to hold on fades away. And when the night creeps in, there is an overwhelming urge, there is a lump in the throat, there is a need to switch back and forth between apps and the search bar just forever keeps tiptoeing across keys typing out characters in an order that you do not want it to.
The night is not quiet. There are shrieks within the soul. There is disgust. There is self-pity because the being is trying to crawl in the same territory where it knows it cannot belong. It was told that it does not belong. It was fucking explained that it did not belong because the heart is confused and the will power is bound to let go at some point of time.Oh, the whims and the fancies that our hearts hold. That pretty sunlit balcony of ours with succulents neatly lining the edges in red, green, blue, yellow pots. Branches weighing down with the pretty flowers. The tiny birdhouse with a small sparrow chugging grains for survival. Holding on to a part of it. It takes a toll on my insides. Its crushing; its killing; its suffocating; its fucking choking me. But no, we are running errands, fighting. Or at least putting up a fight; or just pretending for the heck of it like we give a damn.
The shreds of the rope are digging our flesh, scraping the skin and reaching for the muscles. The filth spreads, channels hatred in every nook and crevice of our bodies. But no. What if there is nothing better? Now is all we’ve got we keep mumbling to ourselves. The bones are dead, decayed and defeated and we are gritting our teeth, biting our tongue. The shadows grow cold and the days grow grim and we drag ourselves to the dark motherfucking corners as if the devils from the broad daylight won’t haunt us there.
The shoulders droop, crumbling under the weight of our decisions, choices and what not. We succumb to the mundane realities. But the only reality that exists is this suffering.
P.S. This piece came together during a camping trip to Hampi.