Dear well wisher,
I sometimes think if you wonder your wishes never find the most potent reply from my end. But I feel they do find home in my thoughts.
I have been struggling with the definition of love these days. It is not something I am used to but have known my whole life; struggle. Every possible permutation of thought, action, obsession, and sadness defines love for me. It's existence though is as unnoticed as an Oxford Comma in my sentences. It's there but you need to look for it when said, else, it's just there.
Struggle is somewhat similar to love for me, I plunge and resurface every other day to understand it's nuances a bit more. My drudge in both pain and happiness differentiate my ideals and choices. What I miss is a balance, I am either in one and out of the other or vice-versa, never together or separate; just the right amount.
I feel she knows how much she wants to love me. I also feel how she struggles to keep up with me every time I strut on to the scene with my emotional baggage. Some days I'm butt naked tanning in the deep ironical sunlight of opinions. Other days I hide in the deep blanket of my own insecurities. She knows, or maybe guesses, tries to correct me at times. I tell her to loosen the leash. My walk offs are a triumph and a loss at the same time. I win my struggle I lose a chunk of love.
We fight as well, but also pull each other into our arms on cold nights. I straighten the hairs behind her ears every morning when we leave for office. She kisses my forehead before sleeping and occasionally nudge her nose with mine. Some days are a small feature episodes in the slew of plot plodders in our daily soap. I live through it and I try to conform.
Here is where it gets tricky. I accept she needs me and maybe I need her too. I still hope she keeps me around to be a part of her life. I understand her love, but not her mood swings. I won't bore you with details, let's just say she sometimes thinks differently and is harsh and equally distressed in asking me to do it her way. I can feel that, she does not know.
She asked me today how we should not hold on to thoughts and change each other. It may sound obvious but maybe being held back is sometimes what I need. The mere definition of love does not ask us of any sacrifices, it’s happiness found in each other. I asked her not to judge but live my life with me, to understand and grow together to take a leap of faith into my world. Now she knows why I always say “Okay” to the most romantic of messages, because my love is not written in text, it’s seen, expressed.
My leaps of faith and tantrums go side by side. Whenever she does not catch me I roll in the dust and then create a mess all around with my dirty shoes. As we clean it up I get ready for my next one. Sometimes she does catch me, it is the best feeling in the world and we have the best time in those moments. But now, she cleans up a lot and I get dirty often.
We both are somehow surviving this struggle of love.
One asshole boyfriend
Today's life in world of materialistics,
When Issues are simple, reactions are complicated.
When Issues are serious,
reactions are lenient.
People are seeking help from materials for growth than others.
Society is suffering from selfiness to enhance its sickness.
Suffering became a part in life with lonieness accompanied.
Surviving became greatest task than birth and death.
Simplicity is struggling to walk along in our way of life.
Searching of purity and genuine persons, i was fed up with soffocation.
Today's life in world of materialistism.
Letter to postman
Hello again, dear postman.
I've always loved the written word. Oratorical performance aside, there's something about letting the blood of your pen flow onto that canvas of paper. It's liberating, don't you think? It's this act of shining a light on your darkest secrets, an act of sharing your deepest emotions with a medium. It's exhilarating.
For a while, I'd forgotten what that was like. I'd forgotten how it felt to look down at a letter with teardrops strewn on it or a scrap of poetry on paper so dented with the emotion of a pen it was nearly destroyed or even the mark of red lips on an envelope sealed with all that love.
I'd forgotten, postman, but you've helped me remember. I remembered what it felt like to reread what I'd written and feel those emotions jump off something as insignificant as paper. I remembered wondering how these tools, such simple tools were capable of such devastation, such salvation. I remembered how memory came alive and worlds were brought to life with these weapons of beauty and I finally understood why they call it the mighty pen.
I've written to you before and I've told you of my dream of magic and hope and heroes. And now, I'm grateful, dear postman , for you've helped me remember that Narnia and Hogwarts and even Wonderland were born from the humble pen.
On a very mundane day Akshaya’s first letter came to me and after reading it I felt like someone had opened the closet to Narnia and I was being sprinkled with pixie dust. Yet again she brings magic with her words in this letter. Thank you Akshaya for these powerful words and sharing them with me. Please keep writing to me at email@example.com
I am very sorry that yet again what I am sharing doesn't sound positive, but I have no one who I can share it with because I don't want them to know this part of me. It's been difficult enough for me so I don't want people to judge me.
I am tired of my life. I am at the extremes with my rage. Everybody just thinks I yell at them for no reason. They don't know about the dark realities of my mind. The only thing I have seen or felt since my childhood is broken hearts, shattered hopes, injustice and inexplicable rage.
My own people think I have become someone else. How could I explain to them that they are somehow guilty too in making me this monster. They didn't know about my silent cries, they never asked me before taking a decision about my life, they never understood my inability to show my emotions, they didn't for once think that I may not be their perfect daughter or sister or friend. I was forced to always maintain the calm, to be the one who would fulfill their dreams. I was considered the good girl . It's not that they were rude or didn't care but I got too complicated to let them understand me or see inside my heart. I went too hard on myself. I am an empath to the outside world but to my family, I have become a dreadful version of myself. I even know it'll get better with time but what about the times I have already ruined everything , what about the bad memories, what about the tears that were my part of the deal. Will I ever let someone understand me and if I do, will they ?
-I do not want to mention this writers name just because I want her to be ready for the world to know who she is
The last time this amazing person wrote to me she weaved her tears into mosaics with her words, so I was intrigued as to what magic she can create and asked her to look at more positive things this year. This was the follow up message. There are times when you feel like the world is crashing in and you can see the light at the end of a tunnel but are unsure if you can reach it, on those days I get to read your letters about happiness and your beautiful stories and I feel better. But for people like this, who have the courage to share their fears and sorrow with a complete stranger, I just want to reach out to all the writers who read YQ Postman, send in those positive vibes and love. We’ve all had our bad weeks or months, help bring a smile on her face and lets all send her some strength and positivity to get through this storm. I know you have the courage to make it through, you know who you are i just hope you know that you will make it through. Leave your comments below in response to this letter, or you can email me and I will send it over to her. Dear writers, please always know that I am reading your letters and trying to connect to your words and stories, so never feel alone I am an email away at firstname.lastname@example.org. And don’t think you can’t share your happy moments with me, my morning could always do with a little extra sunshine. And for the people who write to me about the sadder days in the week, I have alot of sunshine and virtual hugs to send to you.
I wanted happiness and love for you. I knew, you won't be with me forever,yet a part of me wanted to keep you with me, forever. But, then when someone walked in your life, your joy knew no bounds. You were smiling without reasons, laughing at yourself, being a better person. Now, when I know that you've got an awesome family, who will love you more than I do, I'm happy,satisfied, that my little girl is happy in her family. Wish you love and happiness forever.
Father! Oh my darling father.
Here lies your beloved daughter..
Sobbing and crying in dark,
Father! every memory of the past brings such a joy,
And than the thought of never having you around fills the vacuum of heart with woe..
Father, your lil girl does hate crying too,
But, she does cry every night at 12:00 Am.
She asks herself so many questions,
she falls asleep without receiving any answer.
Pillow wet with tears, She's sobbing under that blanket...
Father, Whose going to ask me for a tea, when i'll be studying?
And which door am i going to knock at night, when I don't want to be with sisters..?
Who is going to come to my bus stop with an umbrella?
Who is going to get me everything, without asking for,?
And for whom am i going to read my poems??
Who is going to check on me, if I reached my classes safe.?
Who is going to check if i have caught fever again..?
Who is going to make barbeques for me, in harsh winters.?
Who am i going to say, "I love you to the moon and back"..
Father, Can you hold me in your arms again.
I will unwrap all the fake masks I've wore..
I will never annoy you.
I promise, i will be less demanding!!
Father hug me, and wrap me in your arms..
I need you Jaanu....
YourQuote Diary YourQuote Postman