Wishful Cuts

Roza emphasized desperately, "such a shame..... such a waste of a good fit!!". Naimmin, in response, quoted a french philosopher, so effortlessly, that one could be convinced of his affiliation with them, "..... and expecting it to fly". It was indeed effortless but held a peculiar conviction, in fact conviction with a hint of sarcasm. She was embarrassed about this conversation but she knew this would yield best results, well, better than her alternatives. While the defeat, hopelessness, and their seeming permanence challenged her mind to concoct something positive, she was confident about her choice to seek help from him, and let his practical negativity reign.

"It's all wishful thinking", Naimmin reiterated the third time. "...but what if?" Roza implored, her feeble heart disagreeing but accepting the truth in his words. She had been over this, each year, trying harder but coming back weaker. It angered her that this didn't change and it wasn't going to change. 

Naimmin declared he couldn't relate to her and wanted to excuse himself from this play, but, his damaged heart wanted to preach and so he did. " You can't create an unreal world and be disappointed that it is not real. Samina is willing to play along with you and ease you into the impossibilities of your world, but I won't. She might be burdened by the weight of your friendship but I am not. You are not the first in the world to have sorted a sequence for yourself, to be petulant about the "what if", to demand and implore at the same time. You will rise above this, even if you don't want to, one day you will just rise. It won't matter and you wouldn't know why. You just will rise above this. I can't tell you when, but you will. You can't rush into this kid, try as you may."

" What if......" Roza managed to interrupt but gave in. 

That's the thing about a feeble heart, it knocks for strength along the way. Some times it breathes through the strong hold, some times it suffocates. Some times it takes comfort in bleeding and some times it quivers for the gone. 

"Utopia. The Greeks had two meanings for it: eutopos meaning 'the good place' and outopos, meaning 'the place that cannot be." 

- Mad Men

Stagnant

Seek, seek more, a little more

Stay, stay a little longer

Atleast linger aimlessly 

its an acquired impotence 

not a rendered curse

Play, play, less, a little less today

Walk home, slowly, a little slower 

"not today kid", screeching 

hurt a kind soul unintentionally 

possibly your own

Bleed, bleed, oh well, oh no

Speed, speed through the times amiss

watch it unfold, the one untrue, the many far away

Deny what could be

Hold, hold it close, too close

Keep it warm, it is delicate

Let it reveal

....the damaged you 

Hold it close, a little closer

Stale, so stale, so strong, so lame

Know better or let it rest

Yet to come is an excuse of the withered

It "weren't"

She walked in a plush overcoat, looking confident, which could easily be mistaken for overconfidence by the audience. She poured her damaged heart in front of him. He replied "you weren't".

This is precisely how things should be. Damaged, open, expectant, hopeful.... determined, sure, and blunt. I have been meaning to write about this very essence for a while now, conflicting my own evolving thoughts each time which in turn nullified the thoughts leading up to it. I wanted to propose to be bold, open, brazen, expectant and unprepared but at the same time I wanted to warn about the outcomes. Now I have the answer finally, or so I think? Until I contradict/challenge myself, bear my inquisitiveness. There is no other way of life than exploring the possibilities of 'what may' while secretly hoping for the utterly unrealistic. However, there is no preparing for the brutal reality either. Does that mean we be cautious to the extent that our raw thoughts muffle themselves to oblivion? The guardrails set for us are already misleading enough to fog our most potent thoughts. Shouldn't we be the ones to allow them their magic?

It takes an awfully long time for the magic of uncertainty to unfold, each milestone reminding us of its fragility. This should be a reason enough for us to be open to hurt.

Now, as for the outcome, I wouldn't have it any other way - unapologetically blunt.

"There is nothing more pathetic than caution,

when headlong might save a life,

even, possibly, your own" 
- Mary Oliver