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29
I had woken up by the sound of soft pattering of raindrops crushing down on the rooftop. As I turned and twisted in the sheets ,the fragrance of wet soil filled up my nostrils, the fragrance I used to love, not anymore. As soon as I pressed my bare feet on the cold floor I knew there was something terribly wrong. I slowly glided out of the sheets and made my way to the kitchen to help myself with a cup of chai. As the water boiled, I pressed my head against the cold window hoping this thunder would able to calm down the Strom rising inside me, thick sheets of water smashing against the glass, thousands of droplets loosing their Identity.
I took my chai and stepped outside held my body under the naked sky and let the sacred water wash away all the sins. 
As I stepped back completely drenched I stole a glance in the broken mirror and wallowed in self pity. I wondered when did the last time a smile cracked on these pale lips, when did the last time this face blushed with happiness, when did the last time these eyes were been decorated with kohl. I wondered how mercilessly I killed the child inside me. I wondered whether would I ever be able to dance in the rain again.
15
I'm meeting my younger self quite often these days. The 15 years old Shrishty scared, anxious, introvert, subservient. Shrishty who used to shut herself away from all the responsibilities and problems. Shrishty who always tried to control situations by taking all the pain. Well If you ask me, I don't really enjoy meeting her.The little girl with big black rings around her eyes, who doesn't even know how to smile. But everytime I shut her with all her rememberances in the old boxes , she comes back lurking from the cracks and slits of my anxious mind. And all my self confidence comes crashing down in front of my eyes.

You know the feeling, when you feel like you're deep in the water , crying for help but everytime you try to scream the words get lost in fluid. When you feel like you're at the door step ringing the bell for far too long. When everytime you try to smile , a thin stream of tears leaks from the corner of your eyes.

And I always always ask myself to keep faith, to always look at the brighter side, to not loose hope. But for how long would this credence goes? What if there is no brighter side? What if all my hopes would turn mythical?  What if the sun won't rise ever again or maybe I wouldn't be alive to see the morning Glory.
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17
Augustus's love for Hazel pushed a question into my heart. I wonder whether it is possible to find a love so pure in the generation which is a victim of calendar made up of parties. Always mingling, smiling, casual flirting. Smoking up and getting down looking for sexy chics and hot guys in the town.

So I stand here surrounded by bleating sheeps and bleeding hearts asking what's your idea of love?

For me I would prefer his sleepy and slumberous voice in the stillness of dark night instead of going out among the drunken mashing mouths and red staring eyes.

I would prefer to sit in a corner of an old Cafe holding hands looking into each other eyes instead of making wild love in the backseat of the car.

I would prefer to have a rose which I would keep away from everyone's eyes in between my favorite lines instead of fancy expensive gifts.

I would prefer staying with the same person , aging together instead of changing faces on a weekend basis.

But I feel sorry for a generation who's soo lost in conquering bodies and marking territories in deep dark red that they've forgotten what real love looks like.

Well this is my idea of love what's yours?
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