It wasn’t a normal day, I had had enough.
If my eyes shifted just an arc more, my own breath I would have snuffed.
The world had jumped in the toilet with its bleeding hand reaching for the flush.
Thoughts were pouring through me like shoppers on a sale spree, I just couldn’t handle the rush.
My brain screaming for help, blood boiling thorough the skull window, with my final gasp I called,
“Hear me, the Greatest Dealer ever, I think I’ve seen it all! ”
She finally bought the best seller novel from the book store beside the kindergarten school after picking up her son.
“Who is this, Ma?” chirped the little voice as he ran his finger on the man on the cover.
“Someone I knew a long time ago”, she smiled.
The actress playing her in the movie adaptation continued smirking from the nearby poster.
“I’m done.
I’m done trying to please you, trying to make you look at me.
I’m done trying to change myself into something that I’m not, so that I live up to your expectations, only for you to turn me down again.
I’m done looking at his medals and his trophy room.
You know, I had a similar room…in my heart…you were the only trophy there.
Yeah people don’t call me by my name when I walk down the street.
Unlike him I don’t even have a new car;
I can’t boast of you like he does nowadays,
Like you are some kind of a commodity that he won on a science fair.
They said you can’t buy love, but somehow he managed the impossible.
Or did he?
If you get the time, ask him what’s the colour of your eyes,
What’s your favourite shade of lipstick,
What’s your favourite kind of fries,
How you get carried away when you listen to old Bollywood songs,
How you became cold hearted when that last guy broke your heart into a million pieces.
I think we both know what his answer will be.
I found warmth in your cold heart by the way,
I mean it’s not fully cold yet…you could have been saved again.
But you chose not to.
I know,
One day you’ll walk down the aisle,
Your head will be on his chest when you dance.
But you know what,
They will play my songs at your wedding.
People will recognize the artist by my fake name, the name you once suggested I should use to publish anonymously.
Maybe you’ll hide your tears or rub it on his expensive suit.
Knowing you could have been immortal through my words, but you chose to be rich.
I’ll be there you know, to look at you one last time… and let my pain flow through my words…
But till then…
I’m done.”
-The unsuccessful introvert
The Living Writes 