Home

She had often screamed out ‘Why me’  into the 4 feet patch of woven thread that covered the wood floor of a space that exists nowhere now. Mr.Fourfeetpatch was the keeper of broken desires, had absorbed her tears,  kicked her out of her own pity party, welcomed her back but had never answered.

Patchy had hoped she will one day realize how ridiculous she sounded. He would have breathed a sigh of relief today.

Had she not been thrown into that patch she wouldn’t have known the painful beauty of love. The uselessness of perfection and the fierce drive that comes when the delusion of happily ever afters fades away.

 

‘Tell me a story, he said.

There is no such thing as stories.

Why

Because everything goes back to the beginning.

Does it never end

Ofcourse it does but all endings start at the beginning. It’s the same place.

We have a story

No we don’t. It’s a memory

We forget the place we keep on going back to

So we just have to string the memories together and when we do, we will arrive at the same place and know it for the first time

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s