One day, these would be stories.

The hum of heart and the voice of inside, here's to an inked chronicle of deep intimacy.

There is a song to all of us sinners that scribbles the inside of our veiled chronicles and we’re like oh! how notoriously right, dear conscience.

I’d be a memoir in your vintage talks someday, the two of us know it. Your dramatic life would end and so would be my mysterious story, and you’d be like hey teenage self! good God, you pulled through. You might find your love in the journey, the kind of love which would not need ciggerate smokes & wine glasses to prove its intensity. You might find the kind of friendships that would satisfy your midnight snacks-gossip-hours cravings and your evening walks longings. Probably, you’ll find the butterflies and green grass moments. You might meet your king charming, the sunny days, endless skies and giddy hours experiences. All those small and big things that make up for life. The goods, the bads, ups and downs and all that sums up for a living.

At the end of the day, you need to be the person you’re satisfied with. It’s a huge accomplishment to be happy in own skin. I’d not want to be someone’s sweet heart with a hatred for my own blood. And then to find the one who sees the inner you, there’s something about being able to rely on someone’s shoulder when you’re tired, or giggling around when you feel happy, or sitting silently when you feel worse than the rock bottom of a numb sea.

To be able to cherish the spark of your soul, the love in your mother’s eyes, the care in your dad’s affectionate call. To crack jokes and jump in your university’s hallway, to weep in joy and laugh on blunders, to care and be humble to the last grain of sand; you make your story yourself, let it be a welcoming one to hug our torn echoes.

But hey, walking on an empty park’s track in the silent autumun, with your old skin all crumbled in the tales of life once spent and your eyes have witnessed the roars and lows, we’d move along, shoulder to shoulder, narrating the tales and slowly smiling with empty jaws and no teeth; I’ll tell you there, my dear, how exhausting it was to live through the flowing rain, the gushing speed, the slowing wind " it all started and ended over a smile.

Author's Note

Positive critique is welcomed.