self love

Bag of bones

Long back, in a bag of bones, I reside with air of artlessness.Naturalness.
Flimsy sheet of my bag was suffice to provide with what was needed. Air.
And then I saw you.In the sheer white light of my dark soul through lucid walls of my bag, Your blur face had something I connected with,maybe your eyes.
You cycled to and fro,sometimes humming soft songs with tough lyrics and the other times quiet like a desert.
Seeing you through the blur sheet was not enough now. I wanted you beside me,to teach me how to cycle,how to whistle. So did you,I suppose.
I remember you sticking in a pointed pin trying hard to cut through,to reach me like I am your nirvana. But the sheet was hard to break all together.
Slowly as your pin got in,the air of my artlessness vent through the hole and was soon replaced by soft minty air of your mouth.
It was,maybe,the coolness of mint that filled my flightless wings with courage to flutter and scare away the predators.
Soon did I realise,flying is not the only thing and flightlessness is a bliss. I so wanted to embrace the land we shared that dreams of sky turned into nightmares of us being apart.
But,but you longed to see me dancing in the blue skies and touching the violet sky at its darkest crimson end.
You worked on me as if I were clay.
I seeped in the tiny chunks of love from your hard palms while you shaped and re-shaped me.
And with the end of fall that year, you were almost done with your masterpiece.
I was all set to touch rocketing high skies and the world sang my medley,I was praised by one and all.
My happiness knew no bounds. I was happy because you were.
We were happy. Together.
But soon did you start to flinch nose on little dust that I brought in our minty bag of bones after my high flights. My shiny feathers sometimes turned yellowish or caramel and you started hating it more.
You hit me hard and tweak my fur in the name of cleaning but I knew you were upset,for reasons still unknown. I ignored it for as long as I could,for you were the realisation my minty dreams.
I stopped going out of our bag for I wanted to sniff in as much mint as I could. Like a drug I whiffed your mint scent. I was addicted. But you hated it more.
You called me mean things and openly thrashed me. I was so addicted that I let it go every single time but, as if this wasn’t enough you started staying out for days. I missed your minty smell.
Days passed into months and one day when you returned back, I wanted to hold you tight and inhale mint but your scent was different this time.
Mint changed into rosemary.
The odour burnt my nostrils and I no longer longed for any scent. All I want is my good old air. The air that was only mine.
I asked you to leave, to which you gently obliged by cracking my left wing and cursing me.
But your curses were bliss.
I returned to my fresh air tho my air now oozes aroma of lavender. And when I get back home after my long flights lavender mingles with my sweat and create mirages of heaven.
I have stopped looking out of my bag through lucid walls but I go out once in a while to look at the world that is not so blur now. I no longer wish to cycle for I know I am meant to fly. High and above


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