Her Story-

Her Story-

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Her story lay not in the ink filled lines of a notebook or in the rhyming of her poems. They exist in the gaps between her words, in the hyphen between sentences and in the full stop following a phrase. Her story, she embedded in the midst of Beauty, hoping, wishing, someone would wonder enough to decipher the coded darkness floating between them.
Alas, her story lay in vain…

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Broken-

Broken-

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The words he said left an echo which has only now, begun to fade.
“I didn’t break you, you were already broken”. It felt like a hundred pins were stuck into me all at once, with my body’s gating mechanism shut down so that I could feel the pain in every cell of every part of my body. He broke my heart, but it was my whole body which fell apart.

“Broken”- he called me. I was damaged, damaged goods with no value. I spent a long time trying to make sense of that word. A little longer, I spent on anyone who could fix- broken. God, I hated that word.

I wish I could say- that I realized the words he spoke that night were false, lies and nothing more but I can’t. I’m only just now learning, maybe he was right; maybe I am broken; but I am so done waiting around for him to come and fix me.

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W- Waiting…

W- Waiting…

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You should have been here-
To wipe the tears,
To see the smile,
And share in my moments;
You should have been here-
To see the pride,
The glow in my eyes-
I’d made it despite doubts;
You should have been here-
Not miles Away,
Engulfed in work,
Heedless of my gay moments;
You should have been here-
But alas! You’re not,
And I knew from the start,
Yet ignored the voice, wishing-
You should have been here-
But you didn’t show up,
Now I know for a fact,
But I can’t let it go;
So I wait till my heart stops saying
You should have been here.

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