Empty silences scare humans, and darkness drives them to frightening insanity. When you realise that the world of today is a home to empty souls who have fallen black and numb, you see the reason behind us losing our heads. Our generation is horror-stricken. Weak. Vulnerable. Broken. We are walking around amidst the whims of concrete wonders with a dying and squealing heart beating in our chests. We hide stale stories under our beds… every night, after the lights go out, they creep out and begin to sing in chorus of the ringing silences. With that being said, I won't be frowned upon, if I give away yet another secret. No matter how sad it sounds, but we have made friends with these ghosts in our closets. On nights when we don't feel haunted enough, we pull more of such demons out of their graves and let them wander around in our worlds. Are we addicted to the dark? You know better!
It's often the crippling silence of a buzzing crowd which pushes people to ink-stained papers. You begin to find peace in scribbled lies and unspoken truths just as much as you fear the cracks of your own voice. Then, there are days when you wish to speak… rather scream. This happens when your story has been up on fire for far too long, and now, your voids are oozing out elixirs which may heal the world but they burn at your bruises. So, when your pen runs on those yellowed battlegrounds, and the curves of its trail caress someone's crimson drenched skin, you find the same pen, stabbing you like a poisoned needle. Needless to say, the journey is more thorns than petals. I wonder if that's why a writer learns to ornament pain and wear scars like royal brooches. We find beauty in ashes and stare at the moon like lovers because we lack the courage to turn around and find our way back home.