My journey to penance started on a night
when I kept aside the feeling that you ever existed
And condemned myself those agnostic memories,
changed your remembered words into forgotten carols,
taking a handful of them in my mouth before I throw myself in the bed,
only to pour them out so that they sang lullabies to me
till the hours I did not dream of you.
It was as if I was holding my breath
despite not being in water
because I’d been in it, all choked
I couldn’t risk my fragility again.
It was like setting fire to your own house of memories
because you desperately need ashes
to feel the pleasure of blowing them in air.
And so I became a new version of myself.
A changed version who tried to dance whimsically in dark.
A bare version who struggled to get herself free of you.
Finally, a new version who is at peace with herself,
and not at war with you.
So during all the chaos,
I learnt that I was too poignantly sensitive
to belong to anyone, but me.
I was an addict of the prison that held me with its heavy fetters
that needed to be broken through, before they leave me.
Striving for freedom was my prerogative,
since the urge to my reconciliation
was taking the toll on me.
I now am as susceptible to practicality,
as any mirror would be intensely to light.
I finally found fulfillment before it was too late.
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