As soon as this trial started, i have made a vow to myself. I will not change any of my profile pictures. My profile here has the image of JD. And i won't change it until the verdict arrives. Well, it did.
JOHNNY DEPP HAS PROVED THAT HE HAS BEEN DONE WRONG BY ALL MEANS. UNANIMOUSLY.
YES, MY FAVOURITE ACTOR IS NOT GUILTY.
AND YES, I STILL WON'T CHANGE MY PROFILE PICTURE. WHY THE HELL WOULD I ?
even when the heart dies, hope continues to exist. hope was invented for humans, for us to deal with our constant pain, for us to know that overpowering anxiety will make you die, but you're more powerful than that. Hope respects you, you hope for the moments that aren't right, you hope that one day you will meet that someone you've always wished to meet, you hope that one day this void won't be there, you hope that you will meet your grandmother in heaven, you hope that one day you will meet your long lost friend, you hope that you will achieve what you want to.
When loneliness creates its evil shadows in your brain, you look for hope, the only friend you think of, the only abstract feeling that can support you to thrive even in the blues. when everything leaves, blues stay, But even then hope is there.
I don't agree that hope was invented because we are a mental time machine.
//We are always getting away from the present moment. Our mental existence, which are immaterial and have no dimensions, are passing along the Time-Dimension with a uniform velocity from the cradle to the grave.// H.G. Wells, The Time Machine
Sometimes you feel like an unheard symphony, like a feiullemort deprived autumn metaphor, like a scorched dandelion midst the pages of your unread stories and sometimes you feel like you're drowning somewhere between August's repentance and December's callousness. And at the end of ever July, you feel like the sun shined so fiercely on you that the springs is only a glaucous of poetry.
You chose the darkness that even your night couldn't withstand but then again you worship the poets for gulping up your azure skies. You use your scars as banisters to reach the depth of ink and you use your blood to scintillate the sunsets. And of fidelity, seas and springs, you are a s(in)ombre melody dancing on your own, on the tender tips of happiness. _________________________________________
People, places and movies, they've always taught me how love is like the sun in summers, raging and passionate but my love, my love was gentle like the soft zephyr of winters. My love, it was delicate, it was all about falling like my whole sky falling in his oceanic eyes or like the drops of rain tapping roofs to beat the rhythm of 90s mixtapes. I've loved him like a soul with bruises and wrinkles love memories and I'll love him till I won't be able to etch him, anymore, in my poetries. ~Purva
I've always lived my life as a journey since childhood heading from the burrow of sun to crossing paths with thousands of people everyday, every minute, each second. There's a mosaic in my brain built of imprints, of all those faces whom I remember vaguely, I forgot the other half. Time has already stopped dwelling at my place, it's just these breaths digging up dreams of blowing to unknown places before getting marked by a full stop.
And in between changing compartments, there are stories unheard and undone, unrevealed and unexpected. That there are scars left on your heart which you can only carry to graves and not get rid of them anywhere else. That hoarding a wrong train might have consequences, it can either bring the warmth lurking betwixt naked field of peonies or the cold which heats up your bones and wreath storms over your skin. /That there's freedom when you don't have to hide anything./
When I look back at life, it looks like skies not always clear blue but mostly shattered and grey, maybe it is different edge of the same ether for different people. Some days I'm like those heartbroken stars craving for the croons of moon and some days I'm the moon itself interlacing my broken pieces on oxygenated handlooms. ~Purva