Treacherous faith

by decipheringsilence

She feels it. she knows it all. she sees it day and night. But she does nothing. She doesn’t want to. Or may be she waits till somebody sees the treacherousness in her angry words. She waits. Or may be she is too tired of being the loser. She hates it. she denies it.  she wants no shit. She knows who is at fault. How could nature be so ignorant? How can God not know and see and rectify it all? how can this just keep on happening?

She ignores it.

She thinks about it again. She hates it yet she knows there’s a part of her that wont give in. ah! She’s now reminded of parts. Parts that are loyal and deceptive. Parts that are ugly and pretty. Parts that conceal and reveal. Parts that are known yet unknown. Parts only she sees. Parts only she denies. But she knows it. she sees it all. day and night. She knows the Right but she does the Wrong. She knows the consequences. She’s dealt with them all. yet she sees no difference. The past was just a place where the known was relatively blurrier than the unknown.  The present is just the opposite.  But is that helping?

She sighs.

She does not know the whys. She does not know why her heart always wins over her head. She hates it. yet she knows her heart is stronger than all the barriers she’s put infront of it. her heart always jumps over. Her heart always makes her lose. She scorns. She hates it. but it all comes down to giving in. day after day. It’s a consistent loop. Like the day turning into the night. Like the water from the rains disappearing in thin air. like the familiarity of a child that dreads his own family. Like the feeling that tells you a person is there — right there in the crowd with you even though he’s miles, centuries, dreams, realities and happy moments away. Like the way she dreads the memories. The memories of the past. The memories that make her recount all her faults. All her miseries. The baggage from the yesteryears. The shit that just wont let go. Like all the moments she lives in her dreams. The dreams where she meets him. The him who isn’t a person friend or foe. May be an imagination. A hollow feeling or may be complete. A feeling of contempt. A feeling of purity touching the soul. A feeling of completeness. A feeling that tells her she’s doing the right thing even when she knows she’s not. A feeling like a battle.

She frowns.

She’s 22 cmon! She knows what to do. Doesn’t she. She’s seen it all. she’s lived a thousand years. She’s known danger as kin. She’s been realistic. She’s known what it is. She cant fail? She shakes her head. No not again. She feels weird. Its like understanding things so clearly that it all messes up. She knows she’s gone overboard. Way too overboard to enjoy the simplicity of life. She’s seen too much. She’s heard too much. She’s said nothing – yet said too much. And that’s where it all creates imbalance. She giggles. She knows its that bad. She’s got nothing that may help. She’s only herself.

Abrupt. Poured out. And sick.