Theme: The Way I See It



She kicks the pebble, making it bounce from one corner to the other, DRESSED in her favorite blue jeans, her white kurta, and the pink scarf. Her mind races back to the pile of papers lying somewhere in a box, taped up, ready to be thrown away, her mind races back to all the words she wrote, that didn’t matter.
Her words that didn’t matter.
Her words that didn’t.
Her words.


Her train of thoughts was put to a break, by a small boy, looking at her with big eyes. Eyes that were hopeful, eyes that were telling a story, eyes that gleefully looked down at his own palm, and there she saw a couple of the most beautifully hand crafted wall-hangings. She picked one. “Yeh tumne banayi hain?”
“Bohat ache hain.”


She bought one, without knowing what she’ll do with them. She just bought them, because they were beautiful. Put together with his efforts, and then for a moment she thought of the smile she caused on his face, for a few seconds until, another voice followed,
“Arey mat khareedo, in paison se yeh cigarette khareedega.Kyun gunna lete ho apne sar? Choro,Jao yahan se.”


She looks back at him, and the smile is gone, lost in tears that now rush down his cheeks, his head bowed down.. He’s moving away.Into the shadows….now.. invisible.
She shoots a glare at the CAR, looking at the people who said that. There’s more to him than you think. There’s more to all of us. She thought to herself, and started walking away.


In school she sees this guy scribbling something on a paper, and wonders what he’s doing, takes a step forward to go to him, reach out to him, but her head filled with their voices, everyone’s voice,  Never talk to him. He smokes, He’s not a good guy. He’s not a good guy and she takes more steps, and walks past him, nearly skipping a heartbeat, his art  was amazing, the strokes, The color, The picture, And the voices broke in again, Never talk to him. He smokes.. He’s not a good guy. He’s not a good guy.


There’s more to him than they know.
She sits down with her pen, and starts scribbling words again, so that she can put their efforts in her words. And then, she realized, she doesn’t have words to describe them enough.
She realized they never needed words.
There’s more to them then they know.
There’s more to them than words can tell.
She realized there’s more to her, than her useless stories that don’t matter.
She realized there’s more to her. There are words.

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