Spires and roof tops, flickering city lights and cars blaring, a whiff of a 'yet to begin' summer breeze mixed with half smoked cigarettes. Cross legged, and at a loss for words, I try keeping the uproar inside me at bay whilst observing the catastrophic one outside; it is a futile effort in all honesty. I watch the lighting strike, let the petrichor fill my lungs and sense the cold droplets seep into my skin, bringing chills down my spine.
Thunder strikes.
I'm walking on a tightrope, with an effort to carefully balance my thoughts and words. I'm searching for subtle ways to name my intuitions, name my feelings. An abundance of words in the English dictionary and I'm still not able to string coherent sentences.
Thunder strikes.
I'm struggling to breathe as I try to grasp on to these godforsaken emotions. An attempt to perceive them, an attempt to rectify them.
Thunder strikes.
I'm under the illusion that I am aware of what's bothering me, but alas, it really only is a mere illusion. No, I'm okay. Does repeating these words ever make them come true? If you wish for something with all your might, does the universe strive to fulfil it?
Thunder strikes.I hear the pitter patter increase, feel the droplets harsher on my skin, and it satisfies me. It feels, it feels like a hug. A hug. Am I longing for one?
Thunder strikes, and I feel it. I feel deprivation. I feel an absence of love I'm craving. A void that has stretched and extended because of the lack of love I have for myself. The faint sound of children laughing makes you wonder, when did it all change? When did we start feeling so many things, and so much of it?
Thunder strikes and I'm reminded of how deep down the hole I've fallen. Thunder strikes, imitating the intensity of my heart beat. Thunder strikes and I picture the love I lack, the love I wish loved me back.
By- Medini Chopra
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