23/11/2016

The heart is such a strange organ.

I can recall what I was going through last year but-

I can’t really ascribe values to the moments I had or even remember them vividly, I can’t remember the dread, the terror of things I fear or the horror of things I couldn’t stand; but my heart sinks. It sinks when I look back, it sinks to the same depth or perhaps It sinks all over again.

I can’t really put it to words but here I am trying. A part of me thinks it’s a bad idea to look back; I mean I understand now what people meant by not looking back-

I’ve come to know the feeling of not looking back. And I find it remarkably comforting, to get over things I thought I never could, there is a threshold you have to cross-

And I regret I learned that late.

However,

You only have to look back once to feel the dread creep up on you. And the weird mix of feeling that follow-

A toothless maw slowly squeezing at the chambers, the strings stretching until they break, a silent thud like someone shot you in the heart. And the pain feels so sweet it’s guilt-ridden to pursue. This mixed feeling-

This dread, it’s not something I could get use to. It’s not something that will cease to lose it’s potency-

The only remedy being to not look back.

I think I understand some people more now, the people who don’t look back-
The unfathomably willful. The shaper of their own paths-

They’ve mastered the skill of not looking back.

I try to follow them and today I failed. But I can’t deny how much I keep wanting to look back, even though I’ve grown to look forward to the point I thought it wasn’t possible. I have crossed that threshold. It makes me sad to realize people from my past– have always been priceless to me.

I’ve lost many. I’ve left many yet I can’t forget them even though I’ve blurred what I felt with them and for them; But I’ve come to realize- I had forgotten myself in them.

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About Haris

I've never seen myself as a writer but sometimes words just flow out of my fingers.
This entry was posted in Diary. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to 23/11/2016

  1. Mian Umair says:

    The story is as blur as your memories are.

    • Haris says:

      I didn’t write a story and I wasn’t contemplating on one- the stories don’t matter when you have to stop looking back- But when you do look back, the heartache is there as a whole but the moments have lost their emotional value.

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