While sitting alone on the roof of my office building. I started having this thought that what would happen if I jumped off of this thirteen storey building? Will I be able to fly or fall? Of course, I’ll fall before being free of this material world. Wouldn’t that be some relief? How would it feel to fly freely for once in my existence? But what if I won’t die? What if I’ll stay stuck in this world and also in the spiritual world? While my mind was playing with all sorts of possibilities, I hear the guard calling me and requesting me to come back from the roof while pointing out that it was almost midnight. When I arrived, it was only evening tea time.

Lately, it feels like my point of inspiration has been lost. One that provided my soul with the purpose to write without being judged, has judged me. The support and love that fed my soul to get inspired, has left me without any words in my life. I remember, when someone kept calling my name and I was all numb and didn’t know how to respond. When I walked away, my wounded soul carried my tortured corps with trembling knees. Everyone could see my composed posture and notice me walking away while slamming the door behind me. But couldn’t see my wounds. The whole world was spinning around me – laughing at my tired, defeated, wounded soul. Everyone who ever thought they had been leading the most successful lives gathered around to watch the circus and regaled themselves to the fullest. Their sonorous and evil laughter kept making my ears bleed inside out.

I was only being watched while walking away and being tormented by the world but nothing was done to stop all that torture or to ever utter a single word to comfort my lost wounded soul. I kept bleeding. My soul kept bleeding. I put my tortured corps in my lap and cried the whole time. I kept gawking at it and could feel no emotions in my gaze. My soul was dying.

Bleeding

Dying, drop by drop.

Yet another day arrived to put up with the show to the world. I washed my tortured corps and painted it for my audience – the world. My weak wounded, dying soul put my tortured corps on and got ready to face the circus again. I painted a smile on my crushed corps and went to regale the world. Just like the joker in a circus, no one knows her/his agony but laughs at the silly acts she/he does while being burdened by the heavy corps her weak, crucified soul was forced to carry.

People laughed again and even gave examples to other sad souls to learn to always smile like this joker. Other sad souls looked at me with a knowing gaze and looked away with a heavy heart. Even they couldn’t bear to face those eyes which were projecting the pain of the dying soul like a crystal. They could also hear my breath growing weaker with every passing moment. Somehow, they were also feeling entertained while watching my plight and seeing me bleed.

While my corps kept the material world entertained, my soul kept bleeding inside. The corps was getting heavier and heavier with every passing day. Or maybe, my soul was getting weaker drop by drop and was losing strength to carry the weight of my corps. They claim that they are lost, their love is lost but in reality, they made me lose my soul.

As the time is passing by, the paint also started to wear off, I could notice that. I was scared if anyone has noticed that too.

I must go into hiding and refresh the paint for the world.

I must leave, I must run away – once again.

This world has defeated me once more and was able to hurt my soul deeper this time. They are getting stronger at every attempt. How are they getting so strong? Where are they getting the ideas on how and where to hurt me the most? Or like it was being said, “that’s how you have insulted yourself.” Maybe, I gave them chance to get close to me enough to know how to break my walls and hurt me the most at my scummiest.

They are so expert in sensing your struggling soul and making you fall for their lame promises. And that’s when they act – still, the joke’s on you. Even your reactions are being twisted on you and that too is being used as a weapon to hurt you deeper and deeper. Could it all be because of the expectations we develop from people we start trusting? Could it be because we start thinking that they are our home and no matter where we go, we will come back to those arms and we will be at home – all safe?

What exactly triggered or what exactly gave people the strength to hurt us so brutally? It’s our trust. The love and most importantly, respect that we gave them by thinking that they are our home. They are our whole wide world. And wished to share our complete world with them. Then we develop a sense of expectation and think that they will reciprocate our feelings. They will understand our silence. But all we get is pain.

The words fit well, that is how we insult ourselves.

We expect.