Lately, my life has been like that messed up woollen ball rolling on the floor, with it's end somewhere lost and not in a mood to be unsnarled neatly. I remember, knitting patterns on my white solid sweater with some colourful wool, especially blue, my favourite colour. I love the sky when it turns blue too. With the clouds mimicking white cotton candies sauntering all around the blue sky while the sun and moon play peekaboo, it's beautiful. I love admiring how the colours of the sky blend among themselves and they don't even need a brush for those extra dark shades. But these days, it feels like although the sky changes colours but now my life has not been a rainbow anymore. I can only see the dark blue and black shades of the sky where it seems as if the clouds are frowning at me. The daisies I've planted once now has stopped giggling and shaking their petals, when I water them. Earlier, they used to narrate their stories to me about how once just because of them, a love story started and how they've also been laid on the graveyard of someone's beloved. I've some photo frames fixed on the walls of my room. They've photographs in them of some of my really close people who are now just like that zephyr which comes and goes in seconds and make you feel like it wasn't even there. The frames now threatens me to fall down and break into pieces. That vintage diary kept on the table besides the scented candles has stopped calling me. With a rusty colour on their pages and a smell of the past, the dairy now doesn't sings me lullaby at nights anymore. Every story used to be a way for me to fall asleep, dreaming how happiness is now like those withered leaves of my favourite daisies. Dried petals of roses inside my cupboard and crowns of their thorns, pricking my fingers, now just don't hurt me anymore. Memories disguised as tears, smeared on my white pillows now create art every night. Golden arrows of betrayal are now been thrown at me and they don't even miss a chance to hit my heart just at the right place, making a wound there which oozes out pain in the form of verses, just like you're now reading one. A jar, which reads in bold 'Reasons to smile' filled with some cheats, kept on the window pane above which a dreamcatcher is hanging, now mocks me because I pretend to smile all the time these days. The thread embedded with roses, decorating my ribcage has started tickling my insides. Twists and turns of the hurt feelings makes me gasp from breaths now.
The scarlet hues of the sky during the late evenings and the early soft twinkling of the stars, along with the moon when it starts getting a bit darker heals me with kisses of solace. Tinkling of the bells due to the wind, with gazhals playing in the background has started helping me untangle that woollen ball, my life, and start knitting. May be start with just a little pansy or a sunflower ? Anything, but everything in a way.
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