In the end all we do is pretend to have healed.
I'm neither an angel nor a best friend I'm just another constant you may rely on. Any day. Anytime. Any where
Filled with love
Soaked in hatred
At least pretend to hold me while I see myself getting transformed into ashes.
Scars may not hurt but they stay forever.
Patches are disgraceful they said, little did they know that they were impressions of someone's sincere effort!
Dreams aren't wishes and hence they don't come true. They are just desperate plans and so they are achieved first and believed later.
All we ever have is one single story which we amend edit and filter again and again only to fool ourselves that we have different versions/ types/ genres/ variations of emotions and problems everyday.
During that journey from friends to mere acquaintances a lot was learnt only to realise how important it is to unlearn certain things.
A bleeding eye and a soul of ashes, yet they wondered why the graveyards were doddled all the time.