Rumor has it that I am not the most positive person. I falter more often than you if not at every damn step. Every time I accidentally stumble on that odd piece of chair in the hallway, I curse until the pain goes away. But the other day, I noticed how remotely smallest things evoke nothing but sadness in you and how the pain in your eyes were much deeper than the physical pain my stupidity had inflicted on me. I mean, of course, its just me doing that to myself but hey, what's up with you?
Trust me, when I say I have your best intentions in mind. It took me a while to understand that my real power are the words I write and not the words I speak. The gentlest whisper shall never be as soothing as the words I offer in writing. So here. Read this. Me, I can only hope that you find this when your heart is aching the most and my words shine like a tiny flicker at the end of the dark tunnel. I know, I know you said thanks and the fact that the battle is yours! But you know, I will be right here sitting opposite to you while you chomp on your pancakes and I read my book.
Its 3:00 am and you are up. I know that because c'mon, its been ages (okay, just a few years!) since I have known you. I know that a bar of Mars need to last you all day and you know that my coffee fills only three quarters of the cup. The glaring screen probably stares back at you in the dead of the night. I think I would let the words sink in for now. The haunting silence serves as the perfect backdrop too. You may be sitting in that odd corner of that creaking unusually large chair that you refuse to give up. Or maybe, you are cuddled in bed like a burrito that you are. It does not matter. Either way, I don't want your night to be populated with melancholy.
Your heart is screaming, screeching, pounding in a dead cavity bathed it blood. Like those strategic knots, the muscles only grow tighter with every breath you take. How hollow are those promises that were made to you. How those actions didn’t quite justify what the eyes said. I know that the pain is rooted somewhere deep within and you cannot quite locate it.
That every morning when the honey coloured sunshine peeks from that large French window in your bedroom, all you can see is the storm that is brewing in your cup of tea. Oh, how your heart is full of these emotions and the mind hasn’t found a way to escape this trap just yet. I know you are aching. But nested in the eye of the raging storm is hope.
When a heart is broken, a heart is broken. I do not know what will mend it. Heck, I don't know the reason that you suddenly feel this way. I cannot mend it not because I am incapable of things but because I do not know how or where it hurts. Therefore, the least I can do is stand next to you as the reality peels in layers. Stain your pillowcase with tears if you want. I will probably still be the first one to drag you out the following morning!
P.S. Any one who knows the dustiest, creepiest or the weirdest corner of your soul is a soulmate.