Posted: December 7, 2014 in Uncategorized

She wrote this as she strained to keep the forced smile on her suffering lips for all the unpredictable world to see.
She scribbled furiously In the old pasty notebook, with the determination of a dog gnawing at a bone. Those pages had to show.
And so she wrote, word after remarkable word.
The burning in her hand was a welcomed pleasure,
The flow of thoughts in her exhausted mind was even more pleasurable.
And soon, her forced smile gradually turned into a grimace of pain as she penned down insights from her vulnerable years,
The worst of times when she was invisibly invisible,
Perilous times whose details she didn’t care to remember, but she had to for purposes of those pages,
Right from the beginning when she’d leave him subtle messages in the snowy streets,
Upto the very end when a screaming cut across the sky and he died.
These pages had to show.
She lowered her dissarayed head over her notebook and diligently wrote about that season of despair,
She wouldn’t know that many years later she would be, in a sense, another person.
Those would be the best times.
But for now, she wrote with an incredulous hope that if he were to see those pages, it would be love at first reading.


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