Every time she opened her diary for writing something good, the poem remained abrupt .But the sad ones, they went 2 pages long . It was just like life. She remembers her English teacher asking her "Why dear , why is your diary having all the gloomy things? Why take a sad version of everything around?" She too didn't know the answer. She had seen so much that now no pain had an effect on her. She became such a heartless that when somebody told them about their problems, she forgot about their miseries and started weaving another world of sadness that she had seen. Her heart has been shredded so much that there aint any place for more wounds. She knows when a cut would be there it would be on the same wounds and the wounds will bleed more than ever . Every single time she is right. The little trinklets of blood will flow taking away a bit of memories but entire of it wont be gone as the butcher wants the pain to be slow and more. She knows that some wounds are so big that they will leave a scar on her heart . Inside the wounded heart lie tiny droplets of memories . That flow in her body. When it gets a cut those beautiful memories puke out. She is afraid to loose these trinklets as she knows that they are no longer safe in the shredded heart💔
-Harshita Sehgal
