Those silent whispers untold and unheard
Clog those blank spaces I cling by
Some day when I look back at those
Some day when I only have them as ours
Will they still be mine?
Will they still echo deep within my heart
Will they still revolutionize my world?
For, the point in time where I stand, I have them to hold on to.
At times I grow tired,
Beaten by life
Sunk in worries
And as I cling to those blank spaces
Silence becomes defeaning.
But I rise and smile at those memories
And I count my life in them.
"Read between the lines", I heard our professor say. We were in midst of a Victorian text. I looked at her point blank. She had spoken about something which I had no clue about. "Ma'am, would you please elaborate? ", I tried framing this sentence in my mind but my introverted self overpowered my inquisitive soul like everytime. I hopelessly waited for an explanation. Ma'am started explaining about how beyond the surface meaning of any written text, there lay a wide plethora of meaning which wasn't explicitly stated. She talked about finding a void between the written words and our imagination, that void which shapes our interpretation. That explanation opened doors to my perception of reading a text. It wasn't that I had never considered about the possibilities of meanings that lay coated in words until then, but, what perhaps I lacked was to look for that void where I questioned the layers of meaning, where I put myself in those layers of wo...
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