Iliad

I’m no stranger to heartbreaks.
Hello again.

I’m still running from your memory Julian, and I’m still so scared of what you did to me. What if I made you up? Why, why did I imagine such a future? Repeating, not willing to give up, I’m such an idiot. Since you have left, I’ve been so alone in this tedious town.

I’m terrified of dreaming. What if my dreams wake up and I cease to exist? How can I deal with living, breathing people when I’m afraid of the invisible? It’s much scarier to deal with real people.

Today I saw the sun embracing the moon as we came back to the hostel. If I do bid farewell to this place in April, I shall miss the view the most.

Yesterday I cried in class. It’s been so long since I’ve had to struggle so hard to keep the mask of calm impassivity plastered on my face. And the façade somehow slipped. Yet, when I went for lunch and there were the normal expectations, I was back to acting.

How many roles do you play in life? What if you play a role within a role?

Words have always been my links with the world outside when I felt torn asunder or completely clueless. To cry because there is something you want to do and to cry because you can’t find it or do it. Which is more painful? The only thing I can say is even with all the words I have now, I can’t stop my tears.

It's never too late to realize your dreams. That’s what they all say. But, what if it is for me?


Yet, my favourite quote from my favourite verse remains:

“The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n”

[John Milton- Paradise Lost.]

Of course, as usual, I think too much.

And of course, as usual, I’ll go back to saying “everything's fine" and bottling it up.