She is a paradox: shy yet fierce.
She layers plethora of emotions under her skin,
Solitude is what she seeks in chaos
Yet, she gets scared of being left alone
She is a hard shell which she allows the world to see but not penetrate
But underneath is a storm which kindles
A storm which challenges what she pretends to be
And even then if she opens her locked up soul to you
Remember, she has found her home.
Ask her not to stay, you will hurt her fierce self
Let her fly and sail her way
For she won't tell you this but she fears to be home.
For home pulls her back
Home holds no judgement
Home lets her sink
And she wants to fight past her insecurities
Past everything that holds her back
And someday she will rise
And be comfortable in her own skin!
"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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