Epilogue 101 - Bones and Flowers 𐂯ྀིྀི ˖° ( ၴႅၴ

Maybe i wasn’t born this way at all , maybe my soul was intact , one to be more precise.

I think im juggling with a case of lost identity, i am fragmented in different parts , there are parts of me i hide , parts i dont even want to accept exist.

If u jump into a  cursed aperture where time bends and slips one way too many times , the lines between what is and what is not gets blurred to an extent that a disorder becomes the order.

I surrender to my dread and wonder would life grant me spring after winter? Am i worthy of that?

 Im too gratuitous , dispensable in my own story and the voices conspicuously tell me that i am not so lonesome in that thought.

The irony with words is , once someone says them to you enough times , u figuratively and forthwithly start believing them , no matter how strong you seem to be are deemed.

I believe humans are not as whole as they would like to be. Our souls are severed in different parts. We are too many different beings at once, and each part grows with every perishable hand we shake , we inhale the people we meet , so we conceal who we are because we are scared of who we will be if we do not.

How much sorrow can humans actually take? All the sins we never have the courage to admit.

Ever since i stepped foot into this world , i knew i was not cut out for being tardily alone , i needed others more than i acknowledged. Growing up felt like being raised in a garden where nothing bloomed , where roots and fruits were abolished, no ocean deep enough to drown all your agony , no sky big enough to tell you the secrets of the universe.

What if every stage of our life is orchestrated in order to feel anything out of nothing at all , juxtaposed in a stationary manner.

We compare and reprimand because we cannot accept that our life is the way it is , we always want something more , better , and when life is snatched away from us , we compare , burn for all the things that insinuate to be way too far from our reach , and maybe its not a terrible thing , is it really terrible to be fed up of a state you know you dont deserve to be at? Time doesn’t stop for anybody , and for all we know , it is because of time and nostalgia that we suffer.

People describe themselves with a million adjectives, but i can only designate myself two - miserable and haunted by the times i cry.

And as life perches its end , we are reminded that after all , we are nothing more than bones and flowers.

                                  —Prachi Dhawan