• aesthetexx 57w

    An unknown song plays on the radio, with broken signals faraway from the balcony ,where I stand. There is no nostalgia smelling in the air, instead there is nothingness breathing into me.
    I have stopped feeling, stopped loving, stopped hating, stopped crying
    but I do smile ,
    a little
    To myself,
    To the skies,
    To the Sunflowers in me.

    12:00 am,
    And now the radio unconsciously plays my favourite song. But since a few days, I don't sing along.
    My life wasn't meant to be a luxurious perfectly trimmed garden with pruned roses ,Lilies, and colorful butterflies.
    My life was meant to be an art.
    I wanted it to be an art,
    With grounds full of mosses, wildflowers
    Scattered garlands, mismatched hues,
    Ruined paintings,
    Incomplete poesies,
    Burnt songs,
    Broken pallates.

    I have changed.
    Changed exorbitantly just in a few nights.
    I stopped whining about my broken wings or bloodless tears. I stopped thinking before writing anything. I stopped talking.
    But I am still kind,
    To myself,
    To the skies,
    To the Sunflowers in me.

    They called me.
    A title ? I am not confined to a title.
    Words are just a material in this materialistic world. And I never belonged here. I was never good with words, and I wouldn't be.
    Perhaps I don't want to be either.
    I have always belonged to the spaces between my words or the thoughts at the back of my mind, to whom mere words won't do any justice.
    I sighed and
    looked at the sky,
    I have already stopped writing these days,
    I stopped singing along with the glitches on the radio,
    But I do read,
    A little
    To myself
    To the skies,
    To the Sunflowers in me.

    - Ananya || Art, ahh what a word.

    @_firefly you asked me to write. I wrote it without thinking, I don't know hows it ?

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