Bearing burden to a thousand young souls,

I see a road that stretches across miles

Each one is lost in their own worlds

While seeking answers in their lives.

As I pity these people, I stop to see an old man sitting under a tree,

He was a locksmith with so many locks that unfurl by a single key,

I walked up to him with my small lock whose key had been lost,

I had so many reasons to go to him and so many not.

My doors have always seemed to lock themselves when all I wanted was to explore inside

So that now I don't seek answers to these mysteries that got locked behind.

And when I started to take a turn back home I heard a whisper across the street,

I saw him standing behind me while staggering his feet,

"You must know every lock has a key"

I smirked a little "then why am I not able to see?"

I saw his eyes waver, stealing all my tainted glories for a moment,

"Not all doors lead to beautiful ends

Sometimes walking inside them leave you dumped and sore,

You didn't have the wrong key darling

Just the wrong door."

Sometimes you can smell doubt in the people you love. Hidden under your heart, you somehow know that it was coming. When you look at them and they waver, they put down your promises, they neglect you. There is not hard-and-fast rule to choose people, they just come along and you can't help but love them. And when you are randomly talking to them over a coffee date, they just blurt it out. 'I can't do it anymore'. And then you might wonder where you went wrong on the way, but I think that was just the result of your negligence. It was right there and you couldn't see it.

If one day you wake up and realise that everything had been nothing but fake. What would you do? I think in situations like these one has to be strong and brave. For bravery has always helped pull you up, take you out of immeasurable chaos of emotions, has stopped you from drowning. Nothing in this world is as painful as the feeling of being left alone. So learn to live by yourself, and love yourself. It isn't any less beautiful, I promise.

She was a semi colon kneaded in a sentence.

She was a crack in the ceiling.

She was a kind of girl whose hair was all over the place and mirror was just glass.

I would be lying if I said she didn't cry. But the beautiful part about it was that she wore her weaknesses like her strength. She made tears her sword, wore pain like an armour. And don't you think it was strange that her weaknesses kept her from drowning when nothing else could keep her afloat.

You are not a smile

Which is fake at times

You are not whole

That compliments half of mine.

You are not a door

Which a single key unlocks

And you are not a gossip

About whom everyone talks.

You are a crack in a broken window

Something that isn't nice on the look

You are a million unread stories

Trapped in just one book.

You are a window to the prison

That is unbroken and strong

You're the weakness people find in them

And you're a support all along.