In the end all we do is pretend to have healed.
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I'm neither an angel nor a best friend I'm just another constant you may rely on. Any day. Anytime. Any where
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I'm fire
Filled with love
Soaked in hatred
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At least pretend to hold me while I see myself getting transformed into ashes.
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Scars may not hurt but they stay forever.
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Patches are disgraceful they said, little did they know that they were impressions of someone's sincere effort!
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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.
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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.
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During that journey from friends to mere acquaintances a lot was learnt only to realise how important it is to unlearn certain things.
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A bleeding eye and a soul of ashes, yet they wondered why the graveyards were doddled all the time.
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