A Shackle called Love

In times like these that we find real meaning, or at least we give an honest attempt to find one. How much he loved that life with lesser options. Leaning back with arms clenched and head resting on a dusty shelf. He cared less of the sweat gliding down his brow travelling all the way to his chin, only to drench a flimsy white garment loosely spread on his belly. He ain’t dead, he wished he was, a couple of months ago. Not now! An artist living in a diminutive, creepy chamber for years had now an offer, a hope to unchain misery- to unleash potential. But there he was, immobile and bewildered to acknowledge a probable good time, though far away.

Blind girl in a wheelchair, the anchor who held him steady while he drifted endlessly, she would be happy for him. They never made a vow, never made promises. How could they, it’s only been a lunar month. Changing perception is a real beauty. Then she was an anchor holding him steady, now she’s (Her love) an anchor dragging him against. Only he can fight his inner voices, but as said before ‘In times like these that we find real meaning.’ His struggle to choose between love and career engulfed him, consumed him like a quicksand.

While the world might write stories on ‘fool who turned his back on fate.’ Who is the world to judge his actions, anyway?

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