Life is a notebook.
We have pages to fill.
And there are pages that are unwritten,and pages that you don't want to fill. Pages soaked deep with emotions. Pages that have impressions. Pages that you want to book mark.
On the other hand, there are pages that you would want to tear away..
pages you would want to re-write, but alas, they were written with ink..
Then there are some pages ,which are forbidden to be read.
I have such pages. i am a book..
Pages i have to scribble, with thoughts, that are locked deep down inside,with feelings that were forbidden to be felt. .All those things, that are there..hidden somewhere..but there presence is ignored..denied..!!
they are fresh pages, you can hear the crackling of the pages when you turn em. they are still unwritten..
But Is denial the best way out??
stopping your heart from feeling anything.
is this the right thing to do??
Hell lot of questions..!!
A poetess , who's passion was writing her heart out.
feels hard to even scribble a single line now.
She tries hard,so hard sometimes, to give a vent to her hidden thoughts and feeling by writing them up. Just for the sake, that they might end up in a poetry. like they use to do, before she became "emotionally stable".(if that is the apt word to use).
Or may be "emotionally blank" for those who love to explore her life through what she write.
And "emotionally unavailable" to the diary that lay unattended..unnoticed..next to her pillow.
I am such a girl.
and what i describe this poetic devoid state of mine as being "emotionally centered".
I had learnt to deal with my emotional discomfort.
To escape my feelings, I just disassociated from them and acted out in compulsive ways.
A person who was famous for her sudden rush of emotions, just transformed into being emotionally balanced.
Speaking up my own heart, voicing my own train of thoughts was a task that seemed so tough..more over in vain. Sharing my emotional tremors was something i dint approve of..not even with my own self.
"what have i transformed into??"
Its just like redefining myself. Because what i was, is the opposite of what i have become.
Being happy or sad , doesn't throw me off balance now a days, and even if they do,then its just for few passing moments. The extremity has gone.
Do i really wanna have this controlled version of myself ?
Am i emotionally unavailable to people around me..??
I guess i am not. The world seems to be happy enough with what i was..and equally with what i am now.
There are people in my life ,my favorite girls who are all ears and have a big heart to confide .
And sometimes i do, pour everything out to them, with tears , smiles , laughter and hugs...!!
Then why not to those empty pages...!!!
Honestly now i miss that part of me , that beautiful part , the reason behind the poetry i wrote.
The time i used to dream of publishing them someday.
That innocent , harmless part , the part of me , which some people in this world admired.
Every once in a while, i ask myself ..why it is like this...what stops me from writing...what has changed...???
And after few moments of silence i realize that..
there are few questions meant to remain unanswered..!!!
