I weave stories burried underneath my skin,
I exist somewhere between fact and fiction.
The day goes by giving me pale memories.
The sun settles on my broken window sills yet again
Asking me what it takes to dream?
I disappear into paperbacks, ah! that musty smell
Voices, I hear voices battle in my head
One voice leads to other and there is no turning back,
And yet I stand at the fringes, that's where I have always belonged.
I paint my world in colours, all bright and bold.
But I know how dull colours can be!
I have seen them, been through them,
But, I know what it takes to dream.
What it takes to love yourself with no conditions attached.
What it takes to fly and get hurt and fly again,
What it takes to sing songs without worrying of getting judged,
What it takes to be me, what it takes to be not anyone else,
And that is why I have built my world in between fact and fiction.
For each penny worth pain, there is a dollar to repay,
For each broken promise, there is trust to reward
For each moment spent, there is a memory to keep,
For being alive, for being free for each story in frame
I want to be me and wear my skin,
And say, " There I am look, you see me".
"My love is enough for both of us", she often felt those words ring in her heart. She finally had understood that life wouldn't always follow her designs. That people are meant to leave but their memories won't. She often had wondered how someone could love her to such an extent when that person had always known that she wouldn't reciprocate those feelings. How could a person stand by her when she always acted as a fleeting shadow. She never had given hope for she knew the pain of dejection but he kept hoping like a hopeless vagabond. How she wished that he would some day hate her enough to let go. She devised ways to free him from this web, she acted cold, turned indifferent, did everything he detested and she finally saw some changes. It was a relief, he finally seemed to take hold of his life. She could see him grow responsible. He finally it seemed was learning to love himself. Phone calls died, meetings subsided, they become known strangers. All this while ...
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