And then she quietly placed all the unwanted pieces of her self in a box full of her cherished possessions. Before she was done packing the unattended showcases of her carefree self, she looked at that one self of hers, long and close; she smiled so silently that even her brain couldn’t help confusing it with a sad sigh. She held it, caressed her happy crease-less face, so beautiful, so young, so full of hope. She could see her own aging face in the shining eyes of the youthful countenance she held in her wrinkly hands. It was one of her most treasured selves. She couldn’t keep her for long, despite promising him that she would never be bothered about her past and she was happy and that what he wanted she had wanted the same. Who knew she was deceiving, she had always been so. With this thought, she ribbon-packed all her wishes and hopes and hid the box deep down the ruins of her past.
When she could not make sense of the world around her, and all she did was cheering people up with her strokes of compassion and care, when she could not see why those whom she did good with inflicted the gravest pain, when she had made her insides agree to give in and trust and the trust was broken the worst, when she had agreed to keep the bond and she was still betrayed, when she had found her missing part and she dared to complete herself for once and she lost her own self for nothing; then she would wake up crying after fractions of sleep, questioning her love, compassion and sound heart, she would leave the house, run outside the doors, asking all the passersby about her grieving heart, none would answer and all called her insane, she cried with pain and screamed with joy and who could see the bleeding soul she carried. She was found dead on the pavement of a shrine this morning. As all who see through the delusion leave this body earlier.