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Heart.

SOME HEARTS NEVER MEND.

From the start of adulthood we have an intuitive believe about love. It is strange because we truly believe in something that we have never experienced before without any conscious reasoning. But the ideas about the ideological and stereotypical forms of love which includes all the rosy rubescent fantasies, creates a bubble around our heart. The time of adolescence is very tricky. You don't realise when you grow up and the bubble breaks and takes the heart with it. It breaks all the prejudices of love , and few hearts are unable to undertake the changes because all these years they thought love was a conspiracy between two persons who doesn't fail to understand each other and everyone else is too dumb to understand what goes on in those tender hearts of two lovers. There has always been a belief of "happily ever afters" and it becomes difficult for the heart to leave behind something so flowery and step into a lane where there's no peace but only war. And here comes the mind. The heart and the mind are always at war, and the wounds of the heart are often left unnoticed and sometimes they never mend. The mind wins as we keep trying to make our heart understand and somehow manage to bandage and stitch our heart with forceful smiles and unwanted emotions. We search for love in people, in bodies made up of voids and the hearts malfunctioning. Still we try. We try to find happiness behind closed doors and unkempt bedsheets but we miserably fail to understand our heart which breaks everyday a little because of loveless ness. We lose the energy to love someone whole heartedly because the hearts aren't whole anymore. There stands a wall of insecurities, possessiveness and invalidated self worth surrounding our heart and it is so difficult to break free those walls and put our gaurds down. There's an ongoing feeling of fear and being left out which restricts us from loving someone. One feels so less about themselves that thay feel they don't mean much to others yet they choose not to complain and accept and try. Try to fit in the discolored pieces of puzzles even though they know they don't belong to each other. But somehow they match and some stay and some don't. By this time, we keep our wounds ignored and don't even try to fix them because the walls are higher than before. But our hearts don't complain. It stays, the way it was, unwell and sick.
                                                     



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