THE BLOG ✮⋆˙

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀   ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . 𐙚 We spend far too much time , worrying about being perceived. Art evolves, changes , becomes And so do we. How others perceive you is not who you really are. It is just an interpretation of blood and bones they do not really find worth understanding. You cannot share your pain with everyone, It’s burdening, and the grief we carry on our sleeve can never be studied the way we want it to be. So we avoid getting it taste

Goodbyes are a sour thing. I have never really been good at them. A new year, A new chapter, A new heart, Meeting new people to forget old ones , It all feels like an ending rather than a beginning, Slowly old faces morph into new ones, Their voice, Their laugh , Their scent, Their eyes that held stories that they wouldn’t dare to tell anyone else , They convulse slowly. As if begging for more time , something that we humans never get. Its true , if you want to forget people

When grief calls us in , It feels like unembodied arms of rotting fleshes caressing us , bounded by a city where crows hover , and sorrow engulfs , where the land of burgeoning flowers and broken laughter now lies , deceased. The worst typing of weeping is not the one which can be seen and wiped off one’s face. It is the pounding of your soul , the pain so feeble, that all the comfort in the world feels cold to touch , to keep. It is a privilege to grieve , because it shows t

I would drown in all blues , Than reach a shore where only my erratic breath haunts the silence of the dead, I do not know who you are...