My words flow most freely when sorrow's tide rises, or when the muse whispers sweet nothings in my ear. As my friend so astutely observed, I dwell in a realm of fantasy, where reality's harsh light rarely pierces the veil. In dreams, I find solace, for they are the balm that soothes my soul. Yet, of late, my daydreams have dwindled, my pen has faltered, and my brush has gathered dust. These creative expressions were my refuge from the world's cruel grasp. But now, with peace of mind as my companion, I no longer need to escape. The fragments of my life are slowly coalescing, and though the future's horizon remains shrouded in mist, the present is bathed in a warm, golden light.
But lately, I've also come to realise that my realities were prettier than my dreams, though I was blind to see it. I yearn to be that little girl again, surrounded by the love and warmth of my family, in the comfort of our home, with my parents, grandparents, and Hari. Life was perfect then, but now, time flees, and I barely have a moment to share with them.
In the darkest recesses of my past, I donned a mask of happiness to convince myself, not others, that I was whole. But time has woven a tapestry of transformation, and I am awestruck by the magic that resides within us all.
Bhopal
14/7/24
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