The cotton t-shirt sticks to my back like a second skin. The heat is almost unbearable. Slightest hint of a breeze gives me goose bumps... making me feel alive, even for that fraction of a second. Like love. Ever been in love with someone who didn’t even know that you existed? Waiting for that one look, waiting for that one time when they would actually have a notion about your true feelings?
Just an observation.... before you jump to conclusions.
Being a writer has its perks... and at the same time, you are living 24x7 with a mind that simply won’t stop. Talking to you in your head. Making you look for undercurrents in relationships... and warning you of dangers that might exist just in your head.
And not to forget being judged when you write about the dark abyss of human mind. People wondering if you are a raging lunatic. Getting unwanted sympathies when you try to explore the realms of heartbreaks and what makes us hurt the people we care the most for...
Words and characters dance around in my head while I watch the city rush past. My fear of heights under control as I sit in the dark, perched on the banister of the nth floor. The roads are flooded with lights. somehow looking more alive in the night than it does during the day.
I think about the last two stories still floating around in my head... and I wonder... why do happy endings seem incomplete to me?
Is this the reason I haven’t been able to write them down?
they say things always become happy in the end... but do they?
Does a fairytale princess wake up one morning to realize that she didn’t actually intend to live in the castle. Or be a princess. Or be with Prince Charming?
what if she didn’t want to have pearls on her neck?
What if she wanted to go barefoot...
What if she didn’t like glass slippers?
Will the story still be worth telling? Or even more so?
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©2010 by Chhaya. All Rights Reserved
PS: as usual, I request you to read it as just a piece of writing. the image is googled.
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