Friday, December 2, 2016

On passing time.

As you grow up, the crowd around you shrinks. That care, love, and support you have been cherishing since your birth starts reducing slowly because the givers are not there anymore. Some die, some leave, some get too busy, some find other distractions but your inner child stays in denial for a long time, clinging on things too hard that the grip hurts your palms and blood oozes out. You hold so tight that it digs in your skin and leaves deep scars.  Every goodbye, every heartbreak inflicts a mark on your heart, like a diamond cutting through glass. You cry on some, scream on others and sob silently on most of them because you're forced to come out of your warm, comfortable cacoon and face the cold winds of emptiness. That's why adult life is so challenging psychologically. Oblivious to the cruelty of time, you get attached to faces popping up in that comfortable maze around you and get blown away when they fade or disappear soon. Time makes it happen, it makes people grow out of your maze and fly somewhere else. The circle goes on until every wrinkle on your body has a story to tell. A story of pain, a story of parting, a tale of laughing and forgetting, a tale of crying and loving again. Yes, loving again, growing fond of those bleeding wounds and chasing butterflies again because time may be cruel, it may take dear things from you, but it gives too. It leaves a beautiful souvenir of healing. That's why wrinkles are said to be full of wisdom because they have endurance hidden in them gifted by time.

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