A Letter To The Survivor

Hey you,

Happy New Year! I bet you’re shaking your head and wondering what’s so happy about the clock striking twelve and this bright blue planet of ours completing yet another revolution around a giant ball of gas. You’re probably just thinking of how you’re going to spend a good few months turning 5s into 6s and failing miserably.
Oh but have you stopped for a moment, taken your cynical mask off, and simply breathed in the fact that you, my friend, have survived? Once more, you have waded through 365 whole days of sheer, broken humaneness and emerged alive. Cracked in a few places, maybe. Missing a few pieces, possibly. Aching all over, definitely. But with a heart still trying to beat the odds.
You have written another chapter in your book. You’ve been slapped in the face by rejection; tickled pink by success; whirled through the washing-machine by indecision. You have taken leaps of faith, only to fall a tad bit short and plummet into the soft, waiting darkness. Then you’ve had your own people tiptoe closer like brilliant rays of sunshine and illuminate your very being, one smile at a time. You’re one year closer to your happy ending, bud!

Look around. Let all the destruction, all the grief, the sheer hopelessness in the world shatter your heart into a million crimson shards. Let that little beggar boy on the street make you want to crawl into bed and never go out again. Let your tears soak your soul until you’re nothing but a tangled mess of nerves and veins and trembling sobs. Let sadness pull you into its warm, welcoming embrace and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.
Then glance up, and look at the sky. See the sun drowning in its own blood? Every 24 hours, that selfless star collapses into itself, being kind enough to leave the moon to shine some glow into our craving eyes. Instead of giving up on this wicked race of so-called humans, the sun struggles to break through the horizon every damn day, just so we don’t cease to exist. That little beggar boy has a smile even more radiant than the sun. Feel the faint stirrings of hope yet?
Right about this time, pick up your phone and give happiness a quick missed call. Go hug anyone who makes you want to keep breathing. (even if it’s just your laptop.) Drink a glass of water, and try to actually taste it. Feel it trickling through your throat and sprinkling your insides with life. Smile so hard that your teeth leave stretch marks on your gums.
Just get off your bed and breathe in your beautifully flawed existence. If it’s a new year, you might as well make it happy.



Image Courtesy: www.pixabay.com



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3 Discussions on
“A Letter To The Survivor”
  • You put me at ease and make my being stand jolted in wonder every time.
    The quality of your brain to pick the simplest and the most elusive words out from rivers of mundane and the refuse of monotony is my favorite thing about you.

    Zinni. I croon for your words.

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