Black and burnt hearts fall down to ashes when you aim at them with the cupid’s arrow. If that doesn’t scare you enough against love stories gone rogue, then you may want to grab a glimpse of the poison spat rose pressed in the old and worn pages of a happy love story.
Heartbreaks are like untimely deaths, and the tears that follow are like watered flames of a rain-drenched funeral. Eulogies die under muffled heavy breaths and you sob till the next mourning sun dawns over your moonless night. You face that sun, smelling like stale giggles and sour hugs.
A curse too harsh for the lover inside you!
What happens next? That lover elopes.
You stop seeing the world through pink stained glasses. Your whites don’t preach out peace now, instead, they scream indifference. The yellows don’t sing for joy, but they lie, down and dusted.
Your world is no longer a castle made up of stardust and crystals. Your slippers aren’t glass and you don’t walk around, crowned with flowers.
Now, you reign the voids and your fires cast shadows of their own. You find comfort in darkness and the Sun burns at your skin.
You sleep to howling wolves and wake up to fighting Ravens. But, regardless, you live; you learn to…
You learn to live, adorning ashes and romancing burnt ruins. You are a lone poet, except, now you aren’t in love with ‘love’.
You bleed in the darkest shade of blue and weave out gospels. But, no matter which storm pulls you into its eye, you write… and you live!
– Gauri Walecha