Who am I?

Who am I?

Dear self,

You know what you are and what you've felt over and again. You know what you're good at, and the things you end up doing even when you don't want to.

You live in a world of metaphors and ideologies. There are philosophical conversations which run through your head over and again, telling you that you exist, and telling you what you have.

I don't know if anyone in this world knows what you are and where you come from, but I can try. I can try letting you know what you look for and what you've lost, over and again in your quest.

This world looks like a chamber, sometimes.

No, there aren't any doors. No clustered windows which make a noise.

Though, there are chains.

Chains which keep you from the things you want, and make you feel strangely cold and worn out at times.

Everyone finds you strange and unreal. You're too attracted to sadness, and you don't have a face worth being looked at, when you wake up after an endless sleep, somehow.

They're people, and they have their own flaws and secrets to conceal from this world. You don't have to look for your happiness out of expectation from them, because that way, you'll just be hurt, and I assure you that you don't want that.

Warm hugs and rough sketches are a part of this world, along with pizza slices and hungry hearts, and they're all looking out for a change on some days. It's fiercely beautiful of you to stand with and without them every evening, watching the sun and the moon exchange glances, as a day goes to sleep.

You need to stop hurting, little heart. You can't go on like this. I don't really know what you deserve, but I know what I want you to do to this world. I know how these eyes come across beautiful souls every single day, and yearn for them to be available as an exclusive part of the beauty you try to reserve for yourself, but no, that's not how you should function.

Look at all of them, drown, but always sail your way back in time. Lend them wings if you see an open sky inside them, let them be. They have nights which look darker than the ones you may have ever seen, and dance amidst the thorns you have only written about. They're only people, and all they need is some unrequited, pure and honest form of love.

Make sure you burn, if that helps ten people feel home, because that is what you have always somehow wanted. This is the time to think of a million others who like you were always stuck in wanting.

Be. Be what you have ever wanted.

Those friends from school who don't look back to you? Go and pat them on the back for everything they have done with their lives or ever did with yours. Let them know that there is someone who appreciates what they are, and what they try to be to the world, if not you.

That girl you love? Let her breathe and have a life of her own, tell her how she is the one you'll always cry with.

The people you know but never spoke to? Go out and have a word, tell them their strengths and let them believe in themselves.

Yes, some will fuck around with your mind, and plant grenades in your heart, but no tiny explosions can stop a spark which looks for a greater love.

This is what you are, someone who loves one moment of nostalgia, and an hour of soul to soul conversations. This is your world, and it is not dependent on happiness to stay.

If tomorrow you find yourselves sitting alone at a rooftop with brimmed eyes and blank spaces in your soul, you'll know you've always been good enough to send your gifts to strangers, who passed them around like cheap mementos and badges, which don't mean a thing, but still run the world.

Smile, and gulp the potions in. You're brave and willing enough to choke on fire, if it can light the way for some love.