Why did you do this to me? Hanging me on the corner of the street, I feel vulnerable to my own thoughts, “why did you leave?” I know why you did, but I am not courageous enough to accept; it. But there is a hollowness to be filled. Who is going to be there to push me, to nag me, to tell me that I am not alone.
Why did you do this to me? leaving me alone, to figure out everything on my own.
They met again, he looked the same. Beautiful, both from the inside and outside. His innocent eyes spoke volume, brown eyes that looked tired ’cause of the never ending pain, and constant change of the game; sunshine and cold which toughened him throughout the course
You see, it was difficult for him to be away. Every night, when the lights went off and the warden commanded everyone to sleep, he counted sheep. He had two options by his side: to wander off his mind in the fields of sheep grazing or think about his mom and dad. Former was easier, it didn’t take him much to do
Two years, he counted sheep. No phone calls, no bedtime stories. Mom and dad were far away. No contact to build ’cause it was his worst fate. they did not have any other option, but to sent him away. He was a spoiled brat, according to him. But was he? Or a neglected child; who threw tantrums to gain love and attention of his only loved ones.
One month ago, I was in my room with a blank screen in front of me, taunting me and my ability to write. Many of the readers of bittersweetturns think that I write good (for which I want to thank all of them, for believing in me and especially for believing themselves). The point is, even though many think that I write well or they enjoy my creations, at that moment when I was staring at the white screen of my laptop and the screen stared me back with a question mark, nothing mattered. Every cell of my brain screamed silently for words to come off. Sadly nothing came, so I decided not to blog anything that day.
That was the biggest mistake I committed. Another day trailed behind that ‘one day of not blogging‘, and one more and the count went on, where I was in a hopeless position of not even wanting to open my blog to see the response. It made me more sad. To avoid the whole ‘not doing what I love’, I decided to distract myself with movies and web series and therefore came the idea of Soul searching, which also failed eventually. I thought I lost that spark to write, even though I tried. One of the readers advised to keep a dairy with me, which I did. But it only motivated me to pen down ideas and not the verses. I used to sit with my laptop and think about the ideas, but nothing seemed to be satisfactory. I was not able to figure it out, my movie review thingy didn’t work out, ’cause I felt like I was not good enough, there were complexities and apprehensions, ’cause I felt sometimes, “why would somebody come visit my blog, it’s not that good” But I was wrong. Maybe it was not good enough, but It was special for me. Writing is special for me. Everytime somebody asked me ‘when are we seeing a new post on your blog’, I used to say ‘soon’, but even I didn’t know when that soon was going to come
I think I got stuck when I started pleasing people, instead of helping them or helping me. After all I started the blog so as to keep myself motivated and in that process motivate others with whatever motivated me.
Never mind, I am past that phase now, and I am here to tell you that the phase I was in, was not writer’s block, that was me afraid of the failure.
How did I realise that? Well, through rhythm writing, which I am definitely going to tell you guys tomorrow. I know, I am testing your patience but trust me it helped me, and if you are facing anything similar to what I faced, please let me know, and surely visit again tomorrow to see how Rhythm writing helped me.
I toooook a long break, Yes the ‘took’ has 5 o’s, and yes I took a long break. I know I know, I’ve been saying this for a while, but it is hard for me to decide. With god’s grace I have got a job, friends I can rely on. and finally found love of my life, or have I? But still, something is missing. But what is it?
I lay down thinking, thinking about that friend who pushed me over the cliff, not because he hated me, but for me to feel the wind over my face, to smash my body over the ocean of my thoughts,
I know I’ve been on and off in this relationship with you, but you know you are my home, ’cause even after I wander and roam to places, I come back to you. You are my escape, but when you get to close, you are a jail. It’s hard for me to survive my own thoughts, sometimes I ignore, but how long can I run from myself
So I let them soak in, deep. Only the positive ones though, ’cause you are a spectator, viewing the trails of thoughts passing by, only to turn the light green for the thoughts to get to you, not to be submerged in the darkness of our own flipped side.
I feel sometimes that my creativity is diminishing, I see new people, with their talent, their immerse engrossing talent, and I am mesmerised, but a little scared; too. I think it’s my lowered self confidence, or my tiny self esteem knocking me back in the stomach, twisting my intestine, begging for my courage to show up. I really don’t know what I am afraid off. The people? My friends? My family? Or my own self? I feel sometimes that this insecurity is just in my head, that this Wallflower will bloom not just in early springs, but anytime, vanishing my existence.