I like dark more than you love her but I love you more than I like the dark. I don’t know how long I will write about you but till that end I will only write about you with or without choice.
I am a very sad sick person who only write about anxieties, depression, accidents and on sad topics like ‘you’. And I am somebody who doesn’t even know myself, I’ve no idea. Tonight I felt like crying but I didn’t see any reason that would make me so, I didnot cry but I wish I had.
I am sorry for praying to God to take you away.
I feel like my time is over but I’ve seen those dead flowers amidst the living’s and I see why its not sad to die, to not mourn about your pain and shred when its time, and to happily fall knowing that you have to end it, someday.
I sit here by my window, a pen dangling from my mouth, consciously aware of the world that is coated under the night, merry making with the idea that I can see nothing, and its okay. Because all I want to do is not move and write unhesitatingly, constantly and unmoved by any boulders, all my life. I want to write like not a writer but myself, to write like nobody, to write like to put fire and ice together, to write like to throw words fearlessly up on the ceiling and catch it on the throat, to write like fishing during a rainstorm, to write like to cry like a kid when you ignore me, to write not like to see happy faces but looking under that smile, to write like to know that love and hate are two powerful feelings that to nobody comes easy, and to write like to be ready for death whenever it has to come and, that is when I will put my pen down and rest for a while.
And in like every yesterday, today too I will think about hating you forever for now until tomorrow. Sadly, I think I am never gonna love anybody like this again and worst, I find myself believing it everyday and which absolutely does not mean that I need you because its not somebody, its me, stupid.