The Absence Of Stuff To Feel About,

The absence of stuff to feel about,

I think,

is overrated.

Ask someone who feels so much,

that they have to write it on paper,

so it doesn't overflow.

I met an old friend of mine days ago. And it was a strange encounter that captured my mind for a while. She was my friend when I was 13 years old, and we had a strange parting where she claimed I wasn't interesting enough to be friends with. However childish, it did take a piece of my mind and I was always wondering what is 'interesting' and why am I not it.

Back to the meeting, I was caught off guard when she smiled at me. I didn't know what to do. Hold onto the grudge I held for years, or finally let it go. 'You are no more a thirteen years old! Get over it already.', I chided myself. And so uncomfortably, I smiled back at her.

To my wonder, she took it as a cue to walk upto me and ask how I was doing. I am good- I told her, a part of me already softening over her existence. Suddenly she said she loves my poems and reads them really often. Like an instinct, the sarcastic words left my mouth, "Finally find me interesting enough?"

I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. The discomfort on her face nearly made me apologize. But my rational self adviced me to laugh it out and say I was joking(which I was not). I did that.

As we parted, she asked for my contact number, and even though a part of me was reluctant, I shared it.

Now when I think of it, I smile at the irony that how her discomfort had me worried. While all my discomfort for years probably meant nothing at that moment. The friend I was to her, never died. I was glad of the closure I got. I realised I wasn't angry anymore. I was interesting then too, she only did not see me the way i deserved to be seen.

I had never felt happier. And I feel that is all we need in life. To stop turning over and reading the same pages again. When the chapters are done, the book should be closed.

I've felt an indescribable agony surround me whenever I have cared too much. And realised it ain't coming back in the remotest of it's form. It has managed to unnerve me everytime. And everytime I have reprimanded myself for caring too much. I have, each time, made resolutions that I'd become that stiff, upright wall that doesn't bend to form a shed for others. But these resolutions, like any other have broken each time, leaving me baffled at my own nature.

Caring, I realised, is a disease with no cure. Once you start caring, there's no coming back. If you care, you care with all of yourself.

And this failing to stop myself from caring is my second biggest tragedy. First is still caring despite everything.

-CARING

Vanshika Singh, 25 March, 2022

I've felt like the weight of this world

was lifted off my shoulders.

When I uttered those massless words

at that moment when I was bolder.

You ask me why I had it inside

why didn't I speak up before?

Am I being vocal from now on

and decide to hide no more?

It feels nice being unmute

but once in a while, I think.

The weight of the world has forced me

to draw it into words by my ink.

UNMUTE- Vanshika Singh

When you be apparently clear to someone about yourself, classify well, about who is really understanding and who is extracting content out of it.

Goodbyes have often crushed me hard,

and I've seen for my myself, a dead end,

I've felt like I have a lost a piece of me,

and that piece probably had the all, I could ever be.

To be honest, it took me a night's sleep,

to feel a little light, and pick my will to fight,

I've asked myself, what I was so sad about,

I've felt like a heartless crappy human, moving on so quick.

Goodbyes have always been hard for me,

but I have assembled all pieces of me,

And searched for the bits, I'll hold on to,

to keep safe with me, all they left behind.

GOODBYES- Vanshika Singh