So, as I sit here on the verge of my monotonous nights, I have this verbose with my unfinished thoughts that I can’t synchronize with the blot of every drop of ink that foresee the blood through every sip of my heart.
And I ask myself the same question over and over again_
“Why is there so much of hatred in this world? Why can’t people just understand and feel what all one does for them?”
And I fall asleep to the notions of the ruptured hearts of the other multitudes and realise that sometimes hearts die before the soul is even portrayed to the far ‘Land of Wisdom’.
And that’s the answer to my every ounce of unfinished thoughts.
So, as I slip my eyes to the innocence of my sleep, I know one thing for sure_
“Death is the only solace for me in this world, for there’s a world awaiting to see my heart bloom.”
“But, why does it take such a long essence for my heart to heal. Why does it feel like yesterday? Why can’t I just get over the hurt and devour of this little fruity heart of mine? Why was it so hard to give love and never receive it back with the same intensity? Why has the person I loved the most started hating me the most? Why had the people lost their interest in me? Why had all the kindness I showed towards them had been forgotten for one mistake of mine? And why could I not be enough?”
I asked myself so many questions which I casted only one answer of.
And that’s_ ‘because I was never meant to be loved, because I was born beloved’.