Easiest to ask, toughest to answer.

The inquiry used to break the ice often results in the infamous white lie: "I'm fine."

Indirectly directed.

Well, it didn't go unnoticed to me.

I rubbished it at 3 a.m, purposely turning a blind eye,

But the funny thing about it was, it was every little thing I wanted to just scream to you.

...And that was perhaps the only matter we'd agree on when it came to this mess.

for you.

"I want to swim away but don't know how."

"I'm sinking to the bottom of everything that freaks me out."

9/365.

I'm having an awfully rough time trying to believe in myself.

And i'm sick and tired of perpetually feeling this way.

They say remembering is a curse.

“But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated - not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.” 

― Rohinton Mistry, 'A Fine Balance'

Imprinting memories of ingrained permanence,
Of a comfortable periphery that nostalgia exudes,
A sense of familiarity revisited,
Frequently.

Ceaseless rewinds,
Of saying "so..." with that sheepish smile of yours that followed,
Of an effortless free fall; similar to those amber leaves during autumn,
Of an unwelcomed Friday the 13th.

How it permeated,
How it precipitated,
How it terminated.

Hastily gathering incoherent thoughts; only to verbalize none.
Long fond gazes that now falter,
Warm pleasantries altering to frigid shards of silence.

An overwhelming brazen fervor,
Surpassing every rational recess,
Satan's handiwork perhaps?

Blowing off the grime,
Trivial vacillation with a stalwart spirit,
"Suppress it.. suppress it" her feeble whispers say,
Only to find herself on memory lane. Once again.

She walks. Hastens. Gasps.
But continues the remote labyrinth of liberation,
Only to find cessation in steps,
A halt so enticing, yet punishing called "looking back".

Try.

Forever flustered.

I've always thought that I should thank you.

Looming.

It's so dire that it erupts fear in me.

I for one know that I am not ready.

That time of the semester again.

A familiar path.

An uphill path.

A path that I will overcome once more, Insya Allah.