"I Sometimes Think That Peoples Hearts Are Like Deep Wells. Nobody Knows Whats At The Bottom. All You

"I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while."

Haruki Murakami

To say I want all the material luxuries of the world is too old school. Instead, I want my own personal battlefield and a shiny sword in my hands. I want to fight like a warrior not with the people, but with the thoughts. The thoughts that cloud my mind, making attempts to conquer my consistently. The only problem - I am alone on my side and they have a huge army.

-Vanshika Singh, My Monologue with myself

To find peace, sometimes we need to find our own corner in the world, away from intruding eyes, words and people. To bathe in our own warmth, and to bask in our own light. Too much crowd often force us to distort the love we hold in ourselves, for ourselves. Let that loneliness shape you into a beautiful pot, and let that individuality take charge of your life. The world is a society that would swallow us the moment we lose hold on ourselves.

-VS

I am writing an enemies to lovers trope. The characters are me and myself.

I feel injured like it's the most common feeling of the day,

Like carrying that wound and walking around was not enough,

but feeling the real intensity, with the added burden will only make worth it.

-Vanshika

Sky or the canvas?

"Why the sky refuses,

to lose its colour,

get bleached,

and portray what our hearts feel?

Isn't this a betrayal,

on her part,

to refuse us the luxury,

to display our hearts to the world,

and drown itself in our misery?

Why it has to be so unbothered,

uncaring,

and bring new mornings each day,

making us stand out in the happy looking world?"

"How many hearts must she have?

Before she can feel ya cry?

And how many deaths must she die,

to show your blood on the sky?

Sometimes, your hearts want to laugh till they cry,

Sometimes, your hearts want to lay down and die.

One sky is common for countless of hearts,

Ain't she no illusion, no imagination of arts,

that she will look a mysterious mess of paints,

And like a lovely mother, hear each of yours complaints!"

-Vanshika