Till Time

Night came, the thoughts decided to join in. It was inevitable, the nights she spent alone, were the nights spent allowing every memory to translate into painful emotions. They filled her heart, agonisingly. Perhaps it was a movie she was watching, or a song she was listening to, but either way, she could relate and she would drop her eyes and her tears trickled slowly – gradually becoming a gush.

The tears would have to eventually stop, but the ache in her heart will not. She could only hope and pray, that everything will turn out as yearned. She tried to think of ways to fix things, but she knew there was only that much she could do – this is where frustration sets in, then slowly turning into despondency. Part of her tries to brace herself for the worse, but there was no way for it. You can’t brace yourself enough to allow pain to be less of what it is.


When it hits, it’s going to come wrecking our hearts, and we’ll feel an inexorable pain, a wrench in the heart, the kind that makes us instinctively grab our left chest as we sob, wishing things could have been a narrative with a happy ending. But we were all too busy, busy preferring to cherishing the better parts of the story instead.

Of course, these are all just hypothetical, and only time and effort can mend and fix the story. Till time, she will try to write the story towards a happy ending, while holding dear to every moment as best as she can – hoping there would come a day where the tears would be not of anguish, but bliss.

“The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons and echoes of a heartbeat. But I’m just a careless tourist here.” – Sabrina Benaim


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I like to write when I'm struck with emotions.

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