Not Every Puzzle Is Meant To Be Solved


You want to know her, understand her thoughts but she seems like a book full of puzzles, doesn’t she? The closer you think you have come to solving her, the farther you get from deciphering her. The harder you try, the more you become tangled in her shades, just like while trying to untie the ropes, you actually get more bound. You want to break free and breathe in fresh air but become increasingly mystified.

But wait. Hold on. Though her words may enthrill you and attract you like the saccharine fragrance of nector attracts a honey bee, do not go by them because they are nothing but a farce. Rather look deep into her eyes and dive into the abysses of the storm that lurks behind the calm facade. Swirling in that storm, you seem to lose your senses, but then – the moment you feel you are lost, you gravitate towards the epicentre of the storm where lies the innocent her.

As she writes endless stories about love and plain, about blacks and whites of life, abot death and living fter death and ever single person she came across today, sit by her and read them, for amng these words, very artistically, she has concealed a shapeless piece of her soul. And if you are important to her, then you shall probably find a piece of yours there too. And dont you miss the little mile playing on the edge of her lips or tiny droplets at the corner of he eyes threatening to fall and smudge the inks.

Walking on the streets, showered with rains and smelling of petrichor, under the blue sky smiling at you, listen to her hum the melancholy tunes to herself, unaware of the croaking of frogs which peep from their holes, unaware of the chirping of birds in the nest or the breeze moving swiftly past her, playing with her hair, or the rustling of the leaves or the pair of eyes ogling at her.

At the crack of dawn, when the first few steaks of light race to dance in the universe, watch her sway like an art in motion to the rhythm of her heartbeat for every step, evry move nd every expression screams out to you her story of dreams and the struggle behind it.

At the end of the day, as she lays exhausted, listen to her rant and complain about the unfair and stressful events that she had to go through but listen even more attentively for the momentary silences – a silence which doesn’t rmain for more than a few seconds – between two sentences for then you shall learn about her what nobody knows – her art of disguising a rather painful thought with empty words.

Look at her sleep and dream and surrender to the night to get up again to continue the rest of the mile.

And now you know her.
You understand her.
And if not,
then you are already in love with her.

-Shilpee Agrawal


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