You don’t know why you do it. It’s only meant to hurt. A
kind of pain that is neither easy to express in words nor easy to bear. The after-thought
lingers, of what could be. Of what you wanted it to be. Of the memories, of the
times. You live in two worlds – looking happy in one and actually lonely in the other.
Self-tormenting has become a habit it seems. Every little reminiscent
fragment is precious. It brings back so many happy memories. One more pain inducing than the other. With the lull that
stays within, you promise yourself never to go back the same alley. But the
promise is meant to be broken, not once but each time. It is a cord that
refuses to break. A bond that refuses to weaken. A dent that refuses to be
mended. A crack that can never be fixed. You know you will go back; you want
to. It kills you on the inside, but you have grown used to that pricking of the
wound. It just refuses to heal, and you personally are of no particular help anyway. There are no regrets in life, only longing. And yearning. And of course, the refusal to move on. A sour conflict between the heart and the mind, resulting in heartache and then headache!
Overcome with sweet melancholy, you wish it never happened. Why
did it, if it was never meant to be? Why leave behind something in your heart forever when it's not going to remain in your life at all? Anguished and desolate, you sleep over it. Loneliness is your constant companion. Oh heartbreak, you wretched thing!
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