You see a singer You see a dancer You see a artist You see a blogger You see a traveller You see a photographer You see influencer What not........Yes social media is absolutely a good platform. But ...............No social media is not an good platform most of the time specially during these times of pandemic when people are locked in a room most of us enjoy spending our day by scrolling down but atleast 30% of us go through the situation called #peerpressure and it may leads to depression. What we forget is It's okay to not to post what we had for breakfast It's okay if we don't try 3 ingredients cake #lockdownrecipe It okay if we don't post throwback pic It's okay if we don't take quarantine challenge It's okay if we don't have an hobby It's okay if we don't watch Netflix It's okay if we don't try #lockdownskincareroutine It's okay if we have less followers It's okay if we aren't trying #lockdownmakeup look It's completely okay if you are wearing pajamas and lying on bed whole day But it's not okay if you get into depression and end your life Your life is yours.You are owner of it so live as the way you want. I you we can fight against anything if we are positive#trustyourself#bepositive#peerpressure
Writing after quite a long time. Had a serious blockage in my writer heart (don't gape at me, notice the metaphor.) So here's a piece I've written in a story prose-like style in which I've poured some virtues that I've learnt (not from my experience but) from my overthinking. Hope you'll enjoy it till I check all the leftover submissions in my free time. :3
You used to live in an old apartment with all the windows broken. Streetlights used to peek inside your lonely dark room to find you breathing melancholy and your cold aura kept all your friends far from you. In a cigarette shop near the station, you met a guy who had a smile like young cornflowers and a velvety voice. You came straight back home and found your heart missing from your chest. Next day you kissed him and took him home with you. That little apartment of yours was no longer a hullabaloo of darkness and ivies, but bushes of wild cornflowers instead. He loved you till your bruises were gone. But his love was like smoking cigarette in summer, burning you inch to inch, till your heart was just fluttering ashes. And he left you in the morning, burying you gingerly in a grey, raining cloud, with no words of console.
I know you miss him, because his love, even though ephemeral, was the prettiest moment of your life. And that's the thing about beautiful things; they seem precious as they end. Imagine if hurricanes never existed, would you still look for peaceful nights?
' , ' .
The whole next week you cursed yourself for letting a stranger steal your heart. And you feel stone-hearted like never before, for when it started beating the very first time, it broke into brittle pieces. You keep rounding that cigarette shop every evening that always remains closed now, as though looking for clues at a crime scene. You sit alone on a bench, watching the empty metroes pass by, feeling lonely as ever. You feel like sadness is your home now, and you go outside to clean those dead cornflowers, whose petals have dwindled from cerulean blue to ashen grey. Again, each night that streetlight clambers into your bedroom to find you sobbing; you're too afraid to be happy now, 'cause you feel if you love again, you'll break even more now, so what's the meaning of being fine again?
The thing you didn't see is sadness was never your home, it was the hurricane that wrecked your home. And hurricanes do last; maybe you can't see behind the clouds, but the greys will fade soon. Till then, look for warmth in yourself. The day you'll forgive him you'll find the clouds running dry, your pieces of heart lifting up to fasten into one. (But remember everytime your heart joins again, it's never the same way. Maybe this time it'll be stronger and persistent. You never know until you fall in love again.)
Your ashen heart has curled back into an ivory flower, and you watched it bloom like a greek folktale. You had to shed almost every piece of older you, so you can paint yourself in a milder yet fierce shade of demure blue. Now you've forgiven your lover, not because he was right, but because you deserve peace. You've realised that fake loves are charming but ephemeral while true love's a diamond coated in leaden grey. For all the pain you suffered to heal, all the blood you bled for scars to disappear, you don't care. Now all you know is there's a blue sky, and when the storm'll place its feet in your city again, you're not gonna blame yourself and cry.
Healing hurts, doesn't it? But curiously, it's only after you're fine that you realise how much you needed to be broken.
I had decided not to post anything before 20th but this needed to come out of my system and stay in my feed for sometime.
And yes it does seem like a personalised letter and it is.
A part of me knows and wishes that you never read this but if by any chance you do , I want you to know that I had all the means to send this entire thing to you but I did not only because I don't want to. I am done arguing and trying to make you understand something that you would just not understand because perhaps you don't want to.
For anyone else reading this, you know you can skip!
Books are always the source of treasure A nomadic mind seeks for Pearls of letters string together as an exquisite embellishment of knowledge Metaphors playing hide-and-seek, Similes laughing betwixt pauses, Ideas within ideas, thoughts flavored in emotions And sprinkled in humor, Mysteries kept alive in every next-page...
A book holds a whole universe, Immersing in which a reader gains A lifetime experience within few hours From the very first book that caught attention To the longing for a new book every so often, It's a special journey a person embarks
Heart bookmarked on hope, growth and love - treasure of values
// Lost in between the pages Found in infinite wisdom //