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.