Growth Looks So Beautiful On All Of Us. I Wonder If It Is Even True That People Change For The Worse.
Growth looks so beautiful on all of us. I wonder if it is even true that people change for the worse. I see no concept of bad growth. We all rise from the mud, and slowly and steadily it sheds off from our bodies, no matter how less we try to remove it.
-
canmking liked this · 3 years ago -
orangesandwich liked this · 3 years ago -
queenieschaoscorner liked this · 3 years ago
More Posts from Writertalks
Who do I miss?
A person, place, hobby or environment? Or do I miss those shades of me, that I could never achieve. The traits I always wanted to inculcate, but my inner self always remained immune to. The traits that I still aspire to have, but I know my heart and mind will never align to accept and be the person that I find ideal. I will always be a crooked version of my imagination of myself. I miss the person I longed to be. I miss the person I'd never be.
Do I hate myself for what I turned out to be? No. None of us do.
I was thirteen when me and my friend participated in a school function. While we changed into our costumes, our similar red coloured sweatshirts, not the part of our basic uniform, got exchanged. I took hers home and she took mine to hers. It is a plain and simple mistake, but at that time, I felt like we were giving each other an access to our oddly private domesticity, a glimpse into our lives outside school. As a kid, i felt it took my friendship with her, a level up. And to be honest, I have not stopped feeling so, even now.
It is not necessary that everyone we are closely associated with, must know us like the back of their hands, or vice versa. Humans are fickle minded. We do not build our lives based on colossal hardened inscriptions. Instead, we are that unfinished literature, that is being written everyday, by everyone, and by all instances. No one can actually score a PhD on us, and we must not expect them too.
The introvert urge to have a soul person to share everything with, while knowing barely anyone out there deserves to know it all.
On that wide endless highway,
and barren, unknown land,
a tattered, bruised, broken soul,
Offered me his hand.
For once, I thought I am the savior,
to take him away to a sea,
But whoever he was waiting for,
I realised it wasn't me.
Sometimes we are just carriers,
to fetch and drop people off,
So when we learn we were used,
I believe, there's nothing to hate or scoff.