When I look at the withered havoc I used to be, a couple of questions begin to bother me. What is this color and skin, or the shape perhaps of tiredness that inhabits earth and everything that's in it, at least once? And while in this mouth of exhaustion, how many truths about the behaviour of life do we come across? That life is a complex thing with phases and colors and the multiplicity of factors that make it a life, is a premise for the ones who study it closely. But how close does one have to get to know the details of it? Is a bad experience, a tiring day, a scarred physique or an unhappy eye enough? Or is mankind's knowledge of failure and death and grief still powerless with a number of assumptions that deceptively make it look brilliant?
But if, oh if it happened that you were a worn out red flower, living in war and chaos, with questions about the mortality and grief of all things, know that there's one consolation - all this must be teaching you something:
About living,
About living best,
Without regrets.
Ayushi Singh
-