Words, letters and their empty shapes, nothing is enough to let out the millions of stories born inside me each day. I have lived through days when speech was forbidden to progenate, and times when demure smiles and pointless deadness were the only means to have a way. I have had a platter full of things to choose, always. And with the meaningless shyness I let all the dear ones go away, clinging, sticking, hanging on to the worthless glitters and redundant confetti. Repentance was never my child, and nor was satisfaction on the hind sight. But, today, I stand and stand to choose. I no more believe in the sun-bathed marvels of my decorated dreams. Nor do I crib and lament over people who matter the least. The familiar type of love is a myth. So are the kisses and the skins I had lived so far in. You never existed, nor did my nights of no sleep. My purity was a myth. The fables in my head were a myth.

Today, I choose lights over awkward black ink. I choose uncertainty over sticky high-flying. I choose inanity over cowardice.

I’ll stop lingering in your eyes for too long. I’ll melt away this away. I’ll have to choose, today, anyway.