By: Preeti Vyas | RedPaper.in
Periodic beeps. Names blinking in the tab, again and again. She swipes it down as she has always hated the small talks with people known-unknown. And her life does not allow her to open up to anyone at this phase of life. She wants to, but she couldn’t because now she won’t allow someone to open those threads of insecurities which she is trying to hide beneath the surface which now seems finished.
The threads, which once stretched, will keep on pulling her, dragging her to the place which she has always avoided as the time passed. She wants to talk about her stories, her dreams, her thoughts, her music, her poems. But what she does instead, is suppress them all by her own beliefs – beliefs that now prefer realities, not the fantasies. Because the time has bounded her to keep it all intact, to keep no strings attached with the old rug.
Her life has helped her running, keeping her busy with recurrent tasks. She finishes one, she is offered the next and the time flies on till the day ends. She always wonders while staring at the wall at night. Isn’t it better before when she can live it all by her choice?
Her primary choices have succumbed the secondary ones. But after each tiring day, she convinces herself as she goes to sleep – ‘It is the phase that will lead to my dreams.’