Words Unspoken

"I like you, I really do." He said to himself, rehearsing what he would like to say to her one day. "You have the most infectious smile, the heartiest of laughs, the prettiest of faces. You're as close to perfection as perfection itself." He smiled at how cheesy the sentence was. Then his expression turned sad. "Perhaps," he thought, "That is the problem. She wouldn't understand the humour behind that sentence. I'm not understood-I'm different, somebody else. I can't make people laugh. I have no special qualities. Why would anybody like me?" He sighed, and started doing whatever menial work he could find.

Several days passed. The same thought continued to sadden him. He couldn't tell her, he was too afraid. He couldn't tell anyone else either, he did not like being judged, nor teased.

More time. His feelings elevated on each interaction with her. He couldn't contain it anymore. He had to tell it to someone. Thus, he switched on his computer, went to a place where he could write, and wrote his story. There was some difference between fiction and non-fiction though, the former ended on a good note, where they lived happily ever after.

The non-fictional self knows, she'll never be his, yet he writes the happy ending, hoping she would be. 

To care about others more than oneself.

She walked down the footpath which was deserted in the early hours of the morning. To her left, she saw a closed shop, with a banner which said, "Opening shortly!" with a smiling face imprinted below the words. She wondered whether that meant that it was to open in the day, or that the shop hadn't officially opened yet. After pondering upon it for about two minutes, she chose the latter option and continued walking; curiosity killed her.

A passerby may have, ironically, wondered what she was doing there at that hour. If asked, her answer would be, "I don't know, thinking maybe?" She was like that, closed. She liked to spend time alone; reading, taking solitary walks. She was a woman with many social responsibilities to keep, that of being a wife, a daughter-in-law, a mother, a friend, a colleague, a teacher and so on. She didn't get time for herself, except for such mornings where she woke up early due to a nightmare. 

She took a look at her watch. Twenty minutes till she had to drop her child to school. She started heading back.

As she began going back home, she remembered herself. The small girl who loved to paint. The teenager who loved to gossip with her friends and sit in secluded corners and read. The college girl who was given awards for her merit and achievements. The graduate who was sought out by the best of employers.

Only memories of this past remained in the lady who had to sacrifice herself for the happiness of society and family.  

Things you wish were misconceptions.

I walk by.

I see them lying on the ground,

They are sad, they cry.

I walk by.

My heart starts to throb,

Guilt takes over me.

I walk by.

I wonder if I'm a hypocrite,

Or does trust not exist because of several stories?

I walk by.

I look at a kid,

young, maybe five,

He is smiling,

Although his clothes are torn and body weak.

I walk by.

I lie on my bed,

I'm sad, I cry.

I walk by. I walk by. I walk by.

In my nightmare, it echoes.

I wake up.

Tears still in my eyes.

One more day,

The same guilt takes over me

as,

I walk by.