This is the post excerpt.
“Even life is an illusion until you’ve the guts to execute.”
Certain things are full of illusions unless we accomplish them.
I am an exuberant soul who loves to pen down the thoughts that happens to emerge out from my imaginary mind, anywhere, anyhow.
Whatsoever, I like to write about anything and explore places and pictures- then writing about my point of view with them, sharing and emerging the exquisiteness by them.
I Love to denote my feelings over writing.
Writing about anything that comes to my mind.
It could be an essay or article or letter or love-short stories, heartbroken stories and etc.
And I usually do picture text that helps me think what must I write about.
Then, I get enormous ideas and without any delinquent I write it.
And now I will be writing and updating my new blogs here.
I smile often.
Perhaps because I always stay happy.
Or maybe I just try to trick my mind in thinking so that I am.
A smile on your face doesn’t always personifies that you’re happy. It shows even in the darkest of the time you’re strong enough to handle things with a smile present on your mouth. However, the saddest part: you can’t make the pain; problems; woes and, eventually hurt kept hidden beneath your eyes. Eyes speak quite loudly. Eyes are the sole window of our soul inside.
Ironic, how it is. To just by— single simple smile, we can cover up all the pain existing inside of us rather than explaining to other mortals.
Our hands grazed.
I felt a warmth inside my chest; the solemn; the piece fell into place when our hands touched.
The touch wasn’t intimate. It just was supposed to be innocent handshake.
Then, why I felt my heart flutter inside the layers of my epithelium tissues?
‘What’s happened to me?’ I reflected. Finger tips touched at last.
‘What would you have us do, now?’ My conscience rattled.
‘Maybe it’s love at first sight. Could it be not?’ The voice deduced.
My heart trotted.
Maybe. Just maybe.
Their hands met unconciously like it was bound to happen. Like it was a reflex action. Like they were empty without the other. It met, entwined. Fingers filling the space of one another. Making them whole.
One soft yet another callous. Perhaps it was their unique cosmos that they created for themselves which had no rules; no rationalism; no doubts; no enviousness. Just pure integrity love.
In order to fit themselves in, they created their own little world that had only pure notions and unenforceable and unendable love which existed only in their dictionary.
As their eyes met, they shimmered just like of stars. Twirling thoughts met as they came closer until no space was left between them.
His large bulky hand came at the back of her head, tugging the hair tie downwards for the immaculate tresses to came apart as his fingers curled in those silky smooth mane, he came to love so much. His enthalled eyes glittered in the mild light of the small lounge as he peered lovingly at her spotless fair face that held something closer to admiration.
Tugging the untamed tresses behind her ear, he caressed the edge of her head gently. Almost brushing them with affection.
Upon his unseen keen, she pouted while peering at his impassive visage with small frown in her:
‘Why did you do that?’
‘I like it more when it is opened for me pull out those mane the way I like it in my vicious grip,’ he drawled.
And as the result he saw her small frown deepened with her doe like eyes narrowed while his lips curled up into a very small but sure smile at his own grim humour.
— Saumya Tripathi!
“Are you a writer?! I mean you so write deep!” A writer countered.
“You’re not toying, are you? I write nothing infront of your relevance emotions!” The other retorted.
This is how a writer met another while seeking affection in words!
— Saumya Tripathi!
She smiled lazily with that certain glint of glee in her dark eyes as she read the line, “Being a bibliophile always makes you so calm, delight and collected and accompanied.”
True to his words the books kept his promise and never left her alone. Ever again.
That was the very day where she found her true love existing in her own soft little palms.
— Saumya tripathi!
“Is my tulip angry?” He asked in a soft whisper, his voice rang in my ear like a melting ice cream when not got eaten in time.
“No!” I said indignantly, turning away, but my voice held so much sorrow; so much woe in it that I couldn’t control the slight tremble from my tone.
“What happen, tulip?” He again inquired with worry lacing in his voice. I could visualize his frowning forehead. But did not turn to face him, nevertheless. How could I tell him that he was the reason of my resentment.
“Tell me, tulip!” He urged using his favourite endearment for me.
My eyes turned glossy. Lips quivering. However, I did not bulge and he kept cooing till I was in confinement of his arms.
— Saumya Tripathi.
Eyes are the windows of pain insides!
Sometimes pain is too much to endure. Sometimes you don’t even know what the pain is about. You don’t even know what’s the woes about. You just have this uncertain brimming feelings that buoys within: feelings of agitation; infuriation; higher palpitation; trepidation; defiant; outrage, and whatnot? Like they all want to come out but are captured inside, somewhere somehow. However, crawling around, flopping around the bosoms.
Sometimes we want to— we need to evacuate those feelings but we are incapacious.
The pain eats us alive and we don’t had a thing to oppose that.