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Riya Nagpal



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a month ago
a month ago
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I am trapped with a sense of infirmity, with the phantom of vulnerability. The depths of it come from a very unusual source of extreme and delicate love and purity. All our lives, we desire for a love that weakens our bones, cuts open our wounds, shatters our soul for light to enter inside. Ignite and ‘fix’ whatever was broken, dent the punctures in our hearts. While some of us might get lucky in searching for the ‘one’; it does not end there.

Once the sparkles and glitters dusts off, there appears a rare disposition – hard to express and not be seen by eyes. There is an invisible warm blanket that surrounds my presence. It’s comforting, feels safe and reminds me of the love around; yet, it is crystalline.

It is transparent and porous to damage, physical and emotional. The trail that follows ahead is similar to a tight-rope walk. On one side you fight off insecurities, inner demons and horrors of past experiences and on the other hand, you are too scared to live a life without love. It may leave, fall out or just fade away into nothingness.

All the memories might essentially become a fallen leaf off the tree. Drying and dying. The apparent paradise might transform into a long-lost cactus fighting off its battles alone.

The very touch of love empowers you, with an additional substructure. It gives hopes of a tomorrow that may not see the light of the day. It weighs you down, anchors your swelling inhibitions. Yet, it makes you weak and exposed.

To love. To inevitable heartbreak. To slow death.

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