She was a betrayer. 

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.

With Love,


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I write for people. I write for love. In my world you hear all what remains unheard. I welcome both dark and bright with arms wide open. -MsK

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