Sometimes I stand at the edge of darkness and whisper,
I'm too scared to give my love to this world.
I'm too scared to hold another heart in mine.
I'm too scared to show what love is supposed to feel like.
More often than not,
The world has told me in many ways
That I love too much
That I love to the point
Where maybe it suffocates?
Sometimes I stand at the edge of darkness and I wonder,
Why is it that the world shudders when I come closer
As if I carry on myself
The sort of poison that is too inhuman.
Why is it that my touch
Feels like a scratch mark on the skin
As if I carry on myself
Daggers of unexplainable sin.
Why is it that my love
Feels like a lost wildflower growing in a meadow
A place where no one wishes to sing.
I don't know anymore
How these humans Love
Tell me -
For I don't understand
Somebody teach me how to love in pieces
Somebody teach me how to love in ways that can be measured.
At least by that, I'll be able to survive in this world.
But you see, this heart refuses to be loved
In ways that are not full
This heart of mine,
Refuses for a picture of the sunset
When the actual thing is out there.
This heart refuses anything less than the whole.
So tell me why should I love a little
Live a little
When there is a whole world
Wanting to make me full.
Tell me why would I settle for a half-hearted love
When there is a sun out there waiting to warm me up.
Tell me why.
About the author
Anagha Bharadwaj
“To make living itself an art that is the goal” This is the quote I live by. I enjoy reading and writing and working on my podcast and I appreciate the smaller, mundane things of life like rain, coffee and silent libraries. Additionally, I consciously work towards living an aesthetic life that is to say Aesthetic life is to me what ink is to paper.
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This is so beautiful and accurate!! 🥺🥺🥺❤❤❤