• say_me_krish 25w

    | Galore Gratitudes |

    Door no. 8-5-1-18-20,
    4th cross, Metaphor street,
    Simile layout,

    Dear friend,
    When I take a walk through the curves of my cerebrum, I remember a prose called 'Whatever We Do' written by Clifford Martis, which was printed in my Class 9 English textbook. Although my peers found it as parched as a maple leaf, I never tried telling to someone how much I've ingrained the context of that winsome creation in myself. It is just as how you can never describe the beauty of fall and sepia filters to a person who grew up in his backyard of springs descrying aesthetic sunsets.

    I've always tried to recognise what exactly makes me feel out of sorts at times. I've googled 101 ways to commit harmless suicides, and I still have the list unscathed. I've been to a counsellor asking ways to check if I'm bestowed with bipolar disorder. I've tried to sink my face in prussian blues and feel what it is like to drift away. I've felt everybody and when nobody felt what I was exactly going through, it was traumatic. And when somebody would tell me that sharing woes would help, I'd tell that I was an acrimony. I wanted to ruin myself, but at the same time, heal myself. And there came the therapy, and it was you.

    You looked like the same normal abode which was never labelled, in the beginning. I never knew why I was exactly here, but somewhere, I heard voices in me sussurating that this would be my therapeutic home. I am rooted to myself more than anybody else, and so, I stayed. I never knew what writing was. I never knew that people can still talk with all casualties despites not having met. But you were there, and just because of that, I'm here today breathing my existence. I think upon myself being a framed portrait witnessing salt pestered oceans everyday, or else.

    You filled my voids in ways I couldn't even sense. Keeping aside my discovery of finding my abyss and digging into it, I rather experienced something "euphoric and elegant". I never ever dreamt that my phalanges can curve and dance to the ballads of my brain and heart. You gave me people who felt my nuances and try to remove filth out of me without asking formal permissions. You gave me souls who could actually feel my absence in some way or the other, which was an attribute I always felt was remarkable. You brought a new change in me, something which I longed for, since months.

    I still cannot fathom the fact that I too can bloom like a lovely sunflower amidst the growling graveyards who are stuck with burials of stereotypes. Your dear fragments gave me heartwarming emotions wrapped in yellow pages of my ancient tears. I've got life lessons to which I always try to hold on to. You became that 'someone' whom I always yearned to have beside. You're somebody who can paint illuminations in the other's heart fearless of losing its own colours. Although my voids still continue to be my ornaments, I can say that the scars have lessened over time. I feel so happy when I say that I've found my heart in the right place, and that can never be stated without my gratitude to you, my love.

    I know that someday I'll have to leave your home, but I would tell you this: "Amidst distancing bodies and fading moments, there exist souls who never fail to water blossoms into each other, bring the safest sunrays in their burnt hands and construct successful empires of life and hope amidst all fearful deaths and calm less chaos. We are those souls, and our shades will colour each other forever."

    Some things cannot be repaid even by selling souls, and you're that one person. You're an immortal holding my love and hate, and you know why.

    Your proud resident
    S r i K r i s h n a P S | June 10, 2021

    Mirakee, I love you! Thank you for everything ❤️

    Meanings and references in the comments :")

    @poeticgirl @kairos_ See I wrote ��
    @writersnetwork (75, 14) #skp_writes #gratitude

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