A vivid memory, in the form of souvenirs, collectibles or just little pieces of rock.. Those were her treasures. That's how she recorded her memoirs; of all the people she loved and the places she set her heart upon. But then, sometimes, not all the things hold that special place. Some places, she had come to fret. The places of parting; where she left a piece of herself and returned, empty handed. But she will never forget.
That gate which he went through, the turn that she took and looked back for the last time, those railings which she saw him through, those stairs that she took, those windows which she waved through. Those last glimpses and the fear in those eyes; of hers and theirs. Those eyes will forever be etched upon the pedestal of her memory. And it hurts so bad not because they left, but because no amount of meetings will put things back in their place. No amount of efforts will help. Because she knew, once they leave, they never truly come back.
And then for days she would feel like being in an existential crisis. the ones she belonged to are gone. Pieces of her are missing. And the comfort, the love is never coming back. On the other hand, there still are people, right besides her, claiming to love her. funnily, they are quite blind to her tears. It's so weird, that they read her, completely the wrong way. Her insides are like a sea at storm beneath a calm facade. The sand is right beneath her, has forever been, but fails to comprehend the struggle inside her. The sea inside her craving to meet others of her kind. Hindered by the waves of parting and anchored by the sand stretches, the waves go back and forth, never reaching too far.
The ocean inside her and seas alike, all thwarted by the grains beneath. Craving, struggling for their similies, the fall back, failing. Failing to realize, that what's right beside them, has always been. Touching only the exteriors, the stand never stood a chance; probably, she never gave it one. Continuously looking out for his ocean of stormy love, the sand was never justified. A facade, of uniformity and acceptance, always over her. Appalled, the sand watches silently, those rare storms.
It suffocates her insides, fills her with guilt, how she's incomplete, only because she craves. and the pretence and efforts to please the world; the sand. Those souvenirs, from every little place, are little parts of her that complete her.
That gate which he went through, the turn that she took and looked back for the last time, those railings which she saw him through, those stairs that she took, those windows which she waved through. Those last glimpses and the fear in those eyes; of hers and theirs. Those eyes will forever be etched upon the pedestal of her memory. And it hurts so bad not because they left, but because no amount of meetings will put things back in their place. No amount of efforts will help. Because she knew, once they leave, they never truly come back.
And then for days she would feel like being in an existential crisis. the ones she belonged to are gone. Pieces of her are missing. And the comfort, the love is never coming back. On the other hand, there still are people, right besides her, claiming to love her. funnily, they are quite blind to her tears. It's so weird, that they read her, completely the wrong way. Her insides are like a sea at storm beneath a calm facade. The sand is right beneath her, has forever been, but fails to comprehend the struggle inside her. The sea inside her craving to meet others of her kind. Hindered by the waves of parting and anchored by the sand stretches, the waves go back and forth, never reaching too far.
The ocean inside her and seas alike, all thwarted by the grains beneath. Craving, struggling for their similies, the fall back, failing. Failing to realize, that what's right beside them, has always been. Touching only the exteriors, the stand never stood a chance; probably, she never gave it one. Continuously looking out for his ocean of stormy love, the sand was never justified. A facade, of uniformity and acceptance, always over her. Appalled, the sand watches silently, those rare storms.
It suffocates her insides, fills her with guilt, how she's incomplete, only because she craves. and the pretence and efforts to please the world; the sand. Those souvenirs, from every little place, are little parts of her that complete her.
- ThatGirl.Again
