The heart still remains a virgin.

Do not tell me that the blue-black blisters are not beautiful.
They are.

Whipped. Flogged. Next, thrashed.

Each of the crimson cicatrice writes about a battle I won. Each brown wound speaks the story of a brave girl who never gave up.

The scars no longer look ugly when I stand naked in front of the mirror. Because, I have started loving the hues, and along with them,myself.

Do not tell me that the burning craters are not beautiful.

They are.

I stand at the threshold wearing the same old , purple-green smile. 

Smile of victory. 

Smile of revenge. 

Smile of standing through the whole.

The heart bleeds.

It does.

But despite the thousand daggers that slits through or the million smithereens it breaks into, 

the heart still remains a virgin.

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A new journey.

My morning started with a text message from a very dear one,

‘When there is a will, there is a way. Go ahead, young girl.’

Suddenly, I knew what it meant, rather what it exactly meant to me at this point of life.

I knew it was time to start new and trust the magic of beginnings.

I knew it was time to reveal those charming secrets to the autumn wind.

I knew it was time to talk about hidden bruises, to dance to the rhythm of the happy snowflakes.

I knew last night’s scars would be healed soon by a ray of hope.

Footsteps traced my way to the shelf where a million untouched pages lay, each waiting for a different story, each craving to bear a new experience.

I grabbed some and started to fill them, each of them, one by one.

 To my amazement, I found thoughts,tightly knotted in strings of words.

I found a strange comfort in the smell of ink,spilled over the clean papers.

I found a staircase to an undiscovered galaxy built up inside my own brain.

 

And, I bled before love.



Only this time, this twenty-seventh time, it was not for a person, but for words.