Every emotion can be expressed as a poem or a story. Yet sometimes, I find myself at a loss of words. That is when I experience the pains that had made its mark on my heart in the past. That is when I understand what a broken heart means. That is when I imagine happiness as a tease mocking my hurtful heart.
Those times I remind me to let go. The ‘intelligent me’ makes sensible arguments to help the ‘hurt me’ to get over the hurt. But does it work that way? To let go, I should be holding on to something. There isn’t anything. Only wishes and hopes and if onlys are ruling my heart at that particular moment when my heart breaks into pieces, the pieces of which prickles my very being.
Some wounds are here to stay. Some scars never fade. Some hearts are broken forever.
A broken heart
Dinner ready. Dishes done. Kitchen cleaned.
She sighed as she looked out of the window. He did promise to be home before the dinner gets cold today. From the past experiences, she knew not to hold her breath when it came to her husband’s promises.
But he insisted stubbornly in the morning not to make dinner all by herself, that they will do the cooking together, like the early years. Despite the broken promises she wanted to believe him this time. Because believing that life is beautiful after all was the only thing that kept the hope alive in their relationship. She knew the absurdity of it all but what was her option? To leave him and throw away the life they built together and for what?
Life was a double-edged sword for her. Putting up with his lies and hoping that someday life is going to be beautiful, was easier for her to live with than facing the judgements that will pour upon her if she leaves him. At least he cares enough to lie to her. Her hope was in the love that was buried deep inside him which made him lie to her. She waited for him, for his love, as a tear drop trickled down her eyes. Someday life is going to be beautiful, she hoped earnestly!
You might know that I am in the process of writing a novel. Signing up for NaNoWriMo was essentially to give that nudge to focus and write the novel, the bits of which had been brewing inside me. Are you curious about my progress? Well, not much! I am writing, at the same time I am not.
Unlike short stories or 100 words fiction, writing a novel, when I myself, don’t know which way I am going, is hard. All I have, are a few visions, fragments of imagination, and a few words after the labored effort of an hour or so. It is much more exhausting than I thought it would be, because as I try to write, I put myself in my character’s metaphorical shoes and inadvertently I feel what I want my character to feel. And since there is more than one such character, I am literally experiencing the emotional roller coaster ride, right here in my living room, all on my own. At times, even my dreams are invaded by these imaginary people! In addition to this I have my other daily routines and the roles in my life which I have perfected so far.
Sometimes I find myself getting caught between my character and me. While it does good for the writing process, I am doubtful on its impression on my real life character. I don’t have the answer to why I set out for this, but I am expecting and hoping that if and when I finish writing this one, I shall get to experience the joy that only a writer chances upon!
I don’t know when this novel will see another pair of eyes. I am not even sure if it happens at all. But I can tell one thing for sure, I am learning a lot through this process of writing. This novel may not be a masterpiece, but this novel sure is teaching me a lot of otherwise overlooked lessons.
Here’s to taking chances!
A word to undo mistakes,
to connect and build relations
from withering and rotten.
An act, mending the broken hearts,
healing crushed souls
offering peace for the pierced mind!
A word, powerful and humble,
striking out disputes,
putting forth new perspective.