The Spectator

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She was breaking every falling ray of light on her, was splitting it into a rainbow.
I wished I could tell her how beautiful she looked. Her body so much like a fragile glass, was letting those rainbows pour out of her pieces. I wish I could tell her it was okay to be broken, it was okay to shatter.
But she was only taught to be whole, unscratched, to not fall, to hold the screams, she was only taught to be graceful.
And when the pain had hit her, her body hadn’t known how to react, her limbs just trembled and her face grew pale like winter. She couldn’t even try to breathe or to let the wind caress her for a while. She was in disgust with herself, her existence, her thoughts..
But those were beautiful to hear when unknowingly she would utter them and giggle. She lived in those moments of her imagination and it felt good to see her alive.
She was regretting and the pain was too much to bear, she was regretting walking towards her dream, breaking the rule in her book, because they never taught how to heal, or how to pick up the pieces, when you were your own culprit. There were petunias blooming with her tears and roses turning red with her blood. The sun was bright; glorifying her image for the left moments of her existence. She didn’t even wish anyone to come and accept her at that moment, she didn’t believe in fairy tales anymore.
And I, a mere spectator of her beauty and innocence was just waiting to carry her soul.

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Ashima Binny Written by:

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