They often asked her about themselves, she wasn't sure whether they expected answers. She hoped not, she didn't have any answers for anyone. A silence. A few minutes till they found the right words. They carried on and she realized it was as if they were addressing themselves more than speaking to her. They said her name, you know how when someone says you're name while talking to you. How serious it makes things sound. Not knowing whether they told her because of who she was to them, or they'd have told anyone who would've lent an ear. It didn't matter in the end, things didn't just revolve around your being. We all lived to serve a purpose, perhaps lived to find that purpose.
These thoughts of theirs led them inside the hollows of their souls. She waited. It was a dark place to be in. She let them find their way out. This was what they called comfortable silence. She loved these moments.This was what she'd remember years from now. This moment, this easiness. In her head, this moment filled pages and pages. A sigh of relief. She was blessed enough to be there. Then, they wearily took themselves out of it, asked her about her life. She wanted to tell them that they didn't have to, with her of all people they could simple let go of the strain of keeping a conversation. She gave an answer all the same, as heartfelt as she could make it. It sounded so void to, and she was sad. Sad because it was the best she could do. And there were things you just knew. It wasn't insecurities, and it was far from self-doubt. There were things you knew about yourselves. People denied about you, yet you knew they were true.
They smiled to her, a smile that said 'you have it so easy.' She was too used to that smile, didn't give it much thought. They asked no more, and sometimes they even left. She let them. She had no story, only an imagination. And a combination of half-lived experiences. Don't belittle them. They're everything she can truly call her own. For now.
But everyone had a story. I believed that. How come she had none? Is fate weaving her story without her knowing? So I hoped, she of all deserved it.
These thoughts of theirs led them inside the hollows of their souls. She waited. It was a dark place to be in. She let them find their way out. This was what they called comfortable silence. She loved these moments.This was what she'd remember years from now. This moment, this easiness. In her head, this moment filled pages and pages. A sigh of relief. She was blessed enough to be there. Then, they wearily took themselves out of it, asked her about her life. She wanted to tell them that they didn't have to, with her of all people they could simple let go of the strain of keeping a conversation. She gave an answer all the same, as heartfelt as she could make it. It sounded so void to, and she was sad. Sad because it was the best she could do. And there were things you just knew. It wasn't insecurities, and it was far from self-doubt. There were things you knew about yourselves. People denied about you, yet you knew they were true.
They smiled to her, a smile that said 'you have it so easy.' She was too used to that smile, didn't give it much thought. They asked no more, and sometimes they even left. She let them. She had no story, only an imagination. And a combination of half-lived experiences. Don't belittle them. They're everything she can truly call her own. For now.
But everyone had a story. I believed that. How come she had none? Is fate weaving her story without her knowing? So I hoped, she of all deserved it.
4 comments:
I like it :) It's probably how I felt before 2010, when I hadn't left to the US or the UK and I was still in the Psychology faculty.
xx
I gotta say it made me think. I'll re-read it later. I must.
Write on beautiful =)
Like Nema said, It is Thought-provoking ,Beautiful!
@Vic I'm glad you like it :D
@knee I will, with your encouragement. <3
@aya thank you! <3
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