Remember how we used to say that we wished we had grown up together, went to same school and college, well today I wish I could just meet you one day to tell you how important you are in my life. Today I thank each trouble that bothered me and each palisade that I tried to cross. Because it always led me to you and you were the one who helped me overcome that. Thankyou for being my friend ❤️ Stay the same Tooba ❤️ Sarangae ❤️
I might become a butterfly in the next life, so that I could care so much less and live just being proud of my tiny wings, similiar or different from others, and I would still be colorful at the end of it.
I might grow into a tree in another life, towering over the forest to be the shade that protects my home until I get chopped off by the hands of a tomorrow, and I would still look formidable to the creepers.
I might pour down as the rain in my third life, shapeshifting into snowfall, hail or sleet, expressing every inch of myself to the world watching me plummet, and I would still not be judged for doing so.
I might spread like the sky or the sea in many more lives, so that none can gauge the extend to which I can go, drifting away from what I was to what I am, and I would still have the infinite freedom that is not bargained.
But, Why do I hate this life so much, that I yearn for another ? The scars on my pale skin whimpers blaming the limbs, the eyes, the face and that broken heart, terrified if this human life can take anymore of this trauma.
And that's when I asked myself. "Would you trade a thousand lives to see how this one might end for you ?" Strangely, I felt my pain whispering YES.
hiding behind sunday church, little slippers making sound in the dead street, where no butterfly dances in merry. in the evening walking through the shores, fish caught into nets show life stuck in death, as if seeing their own life, young hearts get scared. warm violet hues of sky drift into blank space, as stars don't shine anymore.
sunflowers tucked in tiny fists, whilst, carefully holding onto cupcakes, standing in front of the grave of a familiar old soul, offering the lost shadows a bite. giggles messed up between sobs, as earth shook everywhere. world left in voids of dormancy try not to break through time. yet, some childhoods still stuck in time, don't get to break through and complete that stage of life cycle. real-time blooming souls find tough to believe their homies; scared to open up about anything and everything. scared to be judged and punished. adamant to lie and hide, they find answers from outer world and niches, that do not either accept nor consider tears and hard times. their own dreams ready to pierce those little brains with questions and answers. museums held arts of contemporary outcomes, unknown to their cotton candy souls, hold onto references of petitioner, who requests peace through fight. still, recovering from the wounds and scars of inner child, they run in the same circle/wheel of life.
stamps collected from postcards, flowers secured in books, money or old notes and coins left in the drawer, all are mere memories in the old home. towns rushed into metropolis, cosmopolitan monthly issues of magazines replace 5pm play along the greenery.
moonchild stuck in abyss, adamant to break easter eggs, searching for goodness in the brutal space, finds nothing but daydreams like "timelapse" to enter a stage without proper growth in stages.
while some souls found solace in adulthood, their counterparts dwelling in dreams, portraying parallel universe, still fighting in wars, famines, natural calamities, search for a proper childhood with less of cloudbursts or storms and more of spring and sunshines.
to me, people always appeared more enticing moments before they left and I would scatter like dandelion's pollens sighting in them the distant sun that paints the sky in hues of a f a r e w e l l minutes before the sunset
/ minutes of farewell desire to watch my emotions imitate the sunset sky /