Suffering In Silence Is Not Bravery, Nor It Is An Act Of Self Sufficiency. There Is Something Fulfilling

Suffering in silence is not bravery, nor it is an act of self sufficiency. There is something fulfilling about being vocal about what goes on in our hearts, good or bad. Certain presence often drives us to the realisation that suffering in silence is not worth it.

This process of growing close, growing together and then growing apart. Life is such a tragedy.

I wonder how different people will perceive me if they saw me through my eyes. Would it make more sense to be by my side? Or they would not have enough potential to sort me out like I have done? Will I be more transparent to them? Will they like me more than before? Or less than anytime? Will they see my dagger and sword, or my flowers and books? Will they hold on to, the sadistic me, or the poetic me?

I am baffled by the uncertainty of the next moment. It wouldn't be a big deal if right now I am sitting in a comfortable blanket, all warm and happy and the next moment, the world comes crashing down upon me. In the worst way possible.

I might be enjoying my most favourite song on the radio, and the next moment my heart may give up. In a literal way.

I might be thanking God, at this particular moment, of all I have, and the next moment I receive a call of a loved one gone.

I might be walking down the meadow breathing fresh air, and next moment my leg may slip, breaking me(and my leg) in the worst way possible.

I might be eating my favourite food right now, and the next moment, I may choke to death, when some particle constricts my trachea.

Such uncertainty in life and still I have such big plans, and continue to make some everyday. This uncertainty clouds my mind in the worst way possible. And probably this was the reason of Antonio's melancholy as well as mine.

What about the feeling when you have heard so many stories, so many perceptions and so many thoughts that you know too much about people, who know nothing about you?

What about the feeling when out of politeness they ask about you, and when you start to reply, the story somehow triggers their topic and they become the subject?

What about the feeling when after all this, they believe they love you, for being their emotional support, but oblivious to the fact that support goes both ways?

What about the feeling when wanting same energy, support, love and compassion is considered selfishness and only self burning is considered the true form of affection?

I love being trusted as a secret keeper. Like come dear, shed all your secrets in me, and I am so good at it, that I shall forget that myself or atleast pretend to forget for the sake of your security. I shall not talk about it again, even to you, so your forget you even shared it with me. And I shall go down in my grave, proud that I kept my words of keeping it a secret.