Her love for the worn out bed grew stronger with every passing minute. Wearily she tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep. Her dreams were spread all over the floor. The sketches she once loved were now a beautiful mess. She herself, was one gigantic mess.

If an artist was to render this moment into a frame, tears of his heart would have been sufficient to paint her graceful figure curled in fetal position amidst the vibrant array of chiffon and all the ladies in gowns on paper whom themselves were birthed by her hands. Her tear streaked chubby cheeks seemed quite weary from wearing that fake smile once again. Cherry wine on her lips was smeared on her sheets; a clear sign of her earnest prayer to end the throbbing pain of her soul. If the pain brush was to create strokes to render her luscious locks, it would have been a quite tedious task to figure out the tangled maze that managed to cover her pale hazel face. All in all she was weary, and she was lost.

But she did not simply care. Reality was just too excruciating. She was born to create;to laugh;to love; to live. Sure she had loved him with all her heart. She had given him all of herself.and now, she was lost.

In the darkness of her closed eyes the images ran wild again. Every second of what happened between them was so clear. And then it came to when she had lost herself in memories of him. She had run a long, long race. Did so much to forget, but never could.

Sure she did have skeletons in her closet. But why? Because one man refused to give heed to the confessions of her heart. It was he who put the skeletons there. It was he who murdered her own soul, turned it into a corpse, and buried it within her.

For years she has been fighting to decompose the corpse. But the skeleton remained. And now, the ghost had begun to haunt her forever.

Her mind ran back to the harsh words that had managed to reach her ears at the party just a few hours before. It had been a while since she had been out. In fact, it had been few years since she had made direct contact with people she called friends. They were new friends. With what had happened, she had murdered all old friendships as well.

Today she had heard how “they” had heard about her. The looks on their faces made her afraid of herself. Accidentally one of them had said” oh I know how you would do anything to get what you want!”. Then the same told her” your wired, I heard that your crazy?”

This was just too much! As she tried to get rid of those words, her mind wandered into all those moments where she had blindly trusted people to simply forget scars of her past, but only to add more scars and wounds. She had done things to forget. But now she was already living with guilt of her own. It wasn’t fair to kill her over and over again, while the murderer of her soul was still at loose. Why did not anyone blame him? Why did not anyone kill him with their words? Is it only a woman who should face the aftermath of a horrid and abusive relationship? Why could not anyone commend her what she had achieved so far though her soul was killed? He had killed her dreams and halted her future. But she had defied destiny itself and was still on the rise. She was proud of herself. But today in a long time, she felt pain.

The mouths that spoke had never known the numbness from that green pill that sent you into a trance to control your rage. Those judgmental eyes never knew the induced sleep from that little purple pill that was her only escape that eventually kept her from taking her own life. She had survived! She lived! But.. Still they see her for her horrid past!!her childish heart cried out to God above and asked him, ” father, I can bear no more”….

They say pain is hard to bear when it’s visible. She smirked. Someone should ask her thoughts on that. Pain in the heart had the power to take ones life. And all those hypocrites who were wolves in sheep’s clothing knew only to judge, but never to help.

She cried, and struggled for an hour more. But as she cried , she remembered her dream. Wearily she took one of her creations into her hand. It amazed her how this was birthed from her creativity. As she closed her eyes, it dawned to her that this wasn’t the end. It was never the end. The fight wasn’t over. The race had to be completed. One day.. One-day she will show the world what she is made of. She is crazy, a good kind of crazy. And she will forever be.

As she began to put back her designs into place, she found solitude in the soft feel of chiffon lying on the floor. Wrapping herself in its full six yards, she began to drift into her world, the future she hoped for, and the future she will somehow build.

She…will never give up.

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