Yours, Silence

Everyone strives for what they think they’re bound: pain a pound, love profound, and a life abound. But then, why do I seek to go back? What do I seek when I say I want to be back? Why do I wish to breathe as I did, live as I did, and sadly, attach myself and love as I did?

Every passing day I realise that I lived unhealthily. Breathed superficially and loved inappropriately. Yet, why do those imperfections in my way of life still seem like a destination to be reached or a platform to be climbed again? Why I can’t I seek to go for a normal, new or otherwise, which everyone seems to be okay with? Why do I like to think that I was okay before if I’m not now? Why do I keep asking questions?

I do not have my Celisen, metaphorical or not. In both her forms, I had two feet - a solid resting which kept me tall enough to keep my nose above the water. Now that resting has been snatched from my beneath and until now I was flailing in the water.

And now my energy is ebbing away, and I can breathe the water. Lend me a hand, silence, for finally, I might be yours.


Recent Posts

See All

Nothing has been heard.

I'm done with the metaphors. I'm done with the similes. I'm tired of analogies and trying to explain things by the means of examples. I'm exhausted. This might be the most raw post I've ever written,

So long, Parthenon

Chauhan wonders what beauty others see in desolation.

Alone and Aloof

There was a god in front of us. There were people behind me. The temple bells were clanging. The aarti drums were banging. It was chaotic for me, and within that chaos, I wondered how many could find