It never occurred to me, why it ever occurred to me. I felt bad for a flower that I kept into my notebook. I felt so disappointed by getting handful of shriveled leaves, what I had thought was that it would be beautiful to handle a masterpiece of that rose in future. But it turned out I was wrong and I never realized its beauty when it was a soft, beautiful, colorful and fragrant bloom. I restricted its beauty inside a bunch of papers. Even though I attempted that rose very cruel, it left some of its aroma into the notebook. I learnt beauty lies within, it don’t get destroyed even after facing a brutish act of rapacity.
What can I do now to make it better? What can I do to construct the house of feelings of wretched rose that has been demolished by the mistakes that I committed out of a curiosity of experiencing love? I just can’t live with guilt for life time; I can’t even ignore the fact how I crushed innocence of nature. But I can only learn and propagate this wisdom of not using true beauty for fulfilling the peculiar but beautiful dreams that we envisage. But I guess it’s not just enough to balance the equation of nature. I firmly believe in concept of karma and the quote what goes around comes back around. Not necessarily in a same way from a same direction but it do occur to make you feel in same way you made someone feel in your life.
So I have already been treated like the dry, left out and forgotten leaves of a rose. I have already experienced that feeling of remain hidden in the corner of a notebook. I have been there on that page that still holds my marks in form of memories, I have suffered endless wait that someday someone will open that unlucky page of notebook where I reside, where my hopes are still buried. Just like that I have been touched by soft hands that broke me into infinite number of pieces. But somehow ignition has been made to provide nutrition to my dead pulses. And that took place into the chamber of self belief in the presence of will power of standing out of blue and support of undying love of my parents towards me.
So I don’t take chances now. I don’t look over the rose in a way that I want to make it my slave again. I don’t hold it by its leave to feel its softness but by its branch where it has its sharpest nail. I pour love into the emptiness of hearts I see around. I don’t expect it back because I know it will come to my way in its own way at a perfect time. I can’t take risks of repeating those mistakes again; in fact no one should repeat one’s mistake. Because I know in a way or another it will come to me. I spread love to whoever I met; I fake smiles to make smiles. I may not see it coming but I don’t see any bad coming in it.