The Strain

It didn’t work out. You put yourself out there, got out of your bubble and took a chance. It still didn’t work out.

There will be a lit bit of tightness in your chest. Find it difficult to breathe when you think of it again and again: That it didn’t work out. That you’ll have to do it all over again.

“Failed”, you’ll think.

But, so what?

Feel sad for a while. That’s ok. Like John Green said, “Pain demands to be felt!”

But stay in there. Don’t do anything hasty. Feel it for a while.

Then pick yourself up, get back in control and start all over again.

Remember that small window when you put yourself out there? The window that reminded you of how beautiful life can be? Hold on to that. Fight for that.

Live for that window.

It’s not over yet.

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Vulnerability

She looked forward to the day. The exact time of the day, to be precise, when she would lay her eyes on him. It had almost been an year.

When he called her to announce, “I’m here!” she couldn’t hold back the bounce in her strides, as she walked towards him. And when she saw him, she hurled herself at him, and took the long pending bear hug from him.

Just the thing she needed.

He held the strings that bound her, untangled them gently so that she could slowly breathe. The first breath she took cracked the high wall of pretense she had built around her. She took another deep breath and she found herself unravel in his arms.

Her vulnerability lay bare in front of him.

They sat next to each other on the bench. Leaves crackled as they shifted their feet. The winter afternoon heat warm on their backs. His arms around her shoulder. Her hands resting on her thighs. They sat for a while. Her emotions finally found words and they flowed from her lips. The unspoken, unseen weight slowly lifting from her shoulders.

Trusting that he can take it all, she unfolded. And he did.

Though they felt stillness around them, the time kept ticking. Finally it was time to leave, with a promise to see each other soon again.

As they both walked away in the opposite directions, she walked away with strength and courage to live from him. And he, with a bit of her soul.

A Picture of Victory

She was a vision to behold. Born out of a dream.

She stood, spine erect, her legs sightly apart. Her hands balled into fists, rested softly at the side of her waist. The breeze blew softly through her long, wavy, black tresses. It swayed to the right of her face; a tender lock caressing her cheeks now and then.

She stood tall with a strong armour hugging her body. The silver on her armour shone as the sun rays hit her. She glowed. She had scars all over. Battle scars. Emotional scars. A of imperfections. She didn’t hide them. She wore them with pride.

A small smile played on her lips.

Behind her sat her now small ‘big black dog’. Present yet but not daring to touch her. She had him under control.

Another victory tucked in her belt.

She knew it was going to be a long battle with the black dog. Yet, she celebrated this was a small victory, for now.

She was strong.

She was the strength.

She was the freedom.

She was a live wire with a wild heart.

She was alive.