the_nonchalant_one

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I just write. The way you interpret it... it tells your story�� ��

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  • the_nonchalant_one 2w

    My mother calls me a miracle, when I was born, a dead rose somehow, bloomed in our garden.
    What went wrong was, while growing up, I forgot... I was a miracle.
    The scenarios move back and forth, from being sexually assaulted the first time, then another and then another time, then getting eve teased just like that, “for fun".To getting body shamed literally every other day. To getting heart broken, by a close friend, then a lover, to finally wanting to take my life. I had seemed to turn a blind eye to the miracle my mom said I was.
    I went through the phase of isolating myself. Never let anyone close. Never love ever.
    Now I never forget that I am a miracle. I have loved and lost and lost love. This does not stop me from being in love. The feeling of being myself with someone. I love, love. The idea, the fairytales, the hopeless romantic type! I would never forget that I'm a miracle.
    ©the_nonchalant_one
    #mirakee #miracle @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    I am a miracle.

    I never forget that I am a miracle. I have loved and lost and lost love. That does not stop me from being in love. The feeling of being myself with someone. I love... LOVE. The idea, the fairytales, the hopeless romantic type!
    I love getting close to people, loving them, being there for them, never expect anything in return.
    I would never forget that I'm a miracle ever again!
    ©the_nonchalant_one

  • the_nonchalant_one 3w

    Our imagination flies like a free bird, builds a utopia, where nothing is out of reach and everything is unreal.
    ©the_nonchalant_one

  • the_nonchalant_one 4w

    After a long day, she has finally reached home. As she unlocks the door, she keeps the umbrella beside it. The umbrella, as she says, is to protect her from the rain and the sun. While, in reality, it makes her feel secure, a weapon against the scavengers.
    She goes to her kitchen, as the water pours in her bottle, looking at the trees and it's ripened oranges. She is reminded of her childhood, how she used to play beneath such trees. Right then, she is dreaded by some memories. She's still not over her fear of chairs. Therapies failed to remove the memory.
    The bottle overflows...
    She has goosebumps. Her hands are shaking. She can't keep thinking about this.
    She turns off the water tap.
    Removes her clothes, letting go of the unnecessary comments she heard the whole day. The comments are like an attachment that comes with womanhood.
    She goes to the washroom, turns on her shower. She analyses her marks from childhood, the mirror reflects her strength rather than her wounds.
    With a tear in her eye, she pushes back the memories.
    She comes back to her bedroom, takes out her pen and diary. It's one of those days again... They have started occuring more often. She wishes and hopes, they lessen. She wishes she doesn't have to hold the scissors near her hand again, to end it all at once.
    ©the_nonchalant_one
    #pen #mirakee #writersnetwork @mirakee @writersnetwork

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    She comes home.

    (READ CAPTION)
    ©the_nonchalant_one

  • the_nonchalant_one 4w

    You bring me back...

    When I give myself up to the flow...
    When my mind's astray... You bring me back to my place.
    When my heart's tired and I can't find myself,
    When my shadow leaves me,
    When I'm haunted by eerie memories,
    I look into myself... I bring myself back, home.
    ©the_nonchalant_one

  • the_nonchalant_one 4w

    I came to you with my head hung
    Just then, showed me colours and magic tricks
    Know this, once, the spell lifted,
    Lovely butterflies around my neck became a noose...
    My love, you are a hunter and I lose.
    ©the_nonchalant_one

  • the_nonchalant_one 7w

    You paint a picture...

    You paint a picture of me, something I've never seen...
    You paint me as someone who gave you pain, with shades I've never seen...
    As your brush strokes, I see myself vanish into the sheet...
    As if, we were to be on a highway and I left you there, alone... Stranded.
    You use water to lighten my lively hues... Faded... Something, so unlike me.
    I gave you colours, so magical... So pretty... While all you care to see are... Shades, I've never been!
    I would have loved to be yours,
    But alas! We weren't meant to be!
    ©the_nonchalant_one

  • the_nonchalant_one 8w

    Sometimes you start feeling trapped inside your own mind... You forget the feel of freedom...
    You want to let go. To liberate, but you keep pushing the thoughts away.
    You're inside the woods, the branches won't let go of you. You can't free yourself.
    The rain never stops, the thunder growls at you.
    You're about to freeze. Your brain and your heart are about to give up on you.
    You want to start from scrap... Redo, undo...
    A farewell to your old self.
    You open your eyes, all you see is, your own reflection staring back at you.
    Back to reality...
    The spatter of rain synchronizes with your cries....
    There's no escape. You can't bid a goodbye... To your old self...
    ©the_nonchalant_one

  • the_nonchalant_one 9w

    The Perpetual

    I learn from the perpetual. I crave the perpetual.
    The trees... so well rooted, humble and fruitful.
    Flowers, so beautiful and so giving of their sweet nectar...
    The wind, so soft, soothes one's mind... So divine!
    Water so flexible... so high, so low... Easily moulded.
    The stars... All different, yet unified. Gleaming peacefully.
    The Sun... The moon! I learn to share my light.
    All so beautiful... All so extraordinary...
    Once bothered, causes a catastrophe!
    ©the_nonchalant_one

  • the_nonchalant_one 10w

    Yet unstitched...

    Our fabric is yet unstitched,
    I weave us one stitch at a time...
    Threads of seven colours, people judge, people laugh...
    Hollow are their hearts... Unlike ours...
    Our shadows will dance, a start of new romance.
    A fabric, so strong, so beautiful, stitched entirely with love.
    For love, my love, is all I can give you. Seven colours, I dream, I breathe, I live of, I live for.
    Our love will be legendary.
    ©the_nonchalant_one

  • the_nonchalant_one 11w

    You'd never know what it's like to be
    born in the wrong body... Would you?
    You'd never know what it's like to be afraid of loving someone...
    You're not aware of the waves to be tackled, the sticks and stones to bear... “For what?", you ask... For being oneself, for showing what one is, was and wants to be, always.
    What it is like to feel threatened by someone you don't even know, you have done nothing wrong, but your surroundings think otherwise.
    The minority is a minority because it is made a minority, by different means.
    Aren't we allowed to love who we want, be what we want to be, do what we want to?
    To not fit in boxes created by people unknown?
    Aren't we allowed to be comfortable in our own skin? Even if it means changing it completely?
    To love. To let breathe. To accept.
    Things we are taught from elders, yet growing up, all we see is, the opposite.
    It is time to change. Time to accept. Time to let the seven colours fly high! Free and full of pride!
    @the_nonchalant_one
    #mirakee #writersnetwork #pride

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    A Letter To The Straight.

    ©the_nonchalant_one