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The divine harmony

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2 p.m.

Everyone talks about 2 a.m thoughts. The suffering, the agony but no one talks about 2 p.m. The scorching sun, days treading by slow, a comfortable suffocation where you breathe between your grief. The beads of perspiration trickling down your cheeks, those tired eyes missing the coolness of evening. You don't hate mornings anymore. You wish for day to end, you miss the white curtains and cool breeze of your room. The fire of hope is still burning in the deep crevices of your heart. You still wish and miss the past but it doesn't hurt anymore. Perhaps, afternoon is the bridge between what you lost and what will eventually find you.

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At this time, when the clock is ticking by every second, drifting me apart from this abode I cherished. I feel nothing. I don't want to see my old writeups. I don't want to see those lovely comments that kept me going through rough nights when my muse failed. Goodbyes are tough but abandonment is impossible to handle.

I feel like the child with a muse and broken pen in hand, running across streets in search of a home. I am going to miss the compose screen where my 2 a.m reside. The notifications and that little burst of the bubble of happiness whenever my screen popped with, "someone commented on your quote."

I am going to miss ranting at the compose screen and deleting it all over yet feeling at ease. This composed screen magic will be not there cause I never enjoyed writing anywhere other than on this compose screen.

My words are slurry. Many pieces are saved as incomplete. Lot of things to say. Lot of things to hide. I hope I meet you on the other side.

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Goodbyes are tough
but it takes a lot of
courage to say one.

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"E arth is round, my home to I bow.
A s sunshine warms my toes, I hereby
R elive the moment, with a sigh "oh!"
T imeless underwater fun and strides, I miss.
H aving fun and memories absent under my eyes.
W ishing for things beyond reach is like
O mitting on the beautiful existence I received
R ed stroll of vibgyor swirls in me as it is the
M achination of god in making the art like me."

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