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MOUMITA SARKAR Mar 2016
Tuesday
7:57 pm
15/3/2016

Woh jaa chuka hai…
Laakh koshish kar lunn,
Woh na rukha…
Woh  nahi rukega.. aab kabhi
Kitna bhi usse yaad kar lunn..
Woh jaa chukka hai..!

Woh na aab kabhi ageyega
Rutha jo hai mujhse bahut,
Shayed nafrat bhi aab,
pahele se zaida karne laga hai…
woh jaa chukka hai…!

Haan maine koshish ki hai ussko,
Bahut bhulane ki… par sab bhul jaati ***,
Shivayen uss ke…
2 saal ** gayen inn baton ko yaad kar ke,
Ki kabhi na kabhi aa hi jayegaa woh!

Woh yaadein jo chah kar bhi,
Kabhi bhulne hi nahi diya.
Jaane kya pata… ye pyaar hi tha
Yaa fhir ekh sapnaa…
Woh jaa chukka hai!
#some #memories cant forgettable :)
Hollow Bones Oct 2014
I never paid much attention to abandon buildings until I became one.
It was after I heard the words,
I heard you say the words,
"She's gone."
Two words that can make a fifty year old veteran feel empty inside the pit of his stomach that was just fed.
After all, no matter how many meals,
no matter how much liquor he drank,
It was never enough to make him feel full.
And no one ever tells you being so empty can be so ******* heavy.
And no one ever tells you a stranger's soft hands cannot hold you back together.
Because the truth is you can't always turn your sadness into a poem and sometimes it just sits in your chest and drains the life from you.
And you can run away,
as you will try,
but you can only go so far until noticing the sidewalks are only cracked to commiserate the broken hearts that have stood on them.
This is not about me.
This is about the human spirit.
The resilience we have installed within us to feel
Everything.
And when my best friend broke up with her boyfriend,
she told me he was OCD,
always doing everything in threes.
But he only said goodbye once,
And I don't think she realizes that it is killing him,
as much as it's killing her.
As humans,
we have the ability to create,
and destroy.
Love letters and suicide notes are just different combinations of the same 26 letters
remember that.
But love is a beautiful thing,
Our love was a beautiful thing,
A fragile thing,
A glass castle,
And we were both sledgehammers.
We created and destroyed and we did it beautifully.
Mr. Lunn said some people are already dead.
Walking around the halls in their own high school,
Waking up for work every single day at nine o clock only to start driving back home at five,
these people are already dead.
And it didn't hit me that he was right until I was lying with a friend,
his head on my chest,
admiring my heart beat in a way confirming he did not have his own to admire.
I asked him if he believed in God, if he believed in the universe, if he believed in the stars staring back at us, if he believed in the connection when you can look at another human being and feel
Thankful to all of those things,
thankful to every god in the world,
for the mere pleasure of knowing them.
And he said he just didn't know and I still don't know what moment was more alarming.
I wondered if he payed attention to abandoned buildings.
I didn't either,
Until I became one.

— The End —