The nervous brushing of shoulders at first, the quick glances in those delicate jet-black eyes in a while. He pulled her a little closer, straightening her curls. Their fingers intertwined themselves, finding comfort in the mess! The sweet odor, the smell, the scent then followed, taking her into some better world. The wink was..
It was magic. It was magic that cannot be explained into words. It was something that needs to be felt. To be enjoyed. In the moment. At the moment. The slightest rubbing of fingers, tickled her into joy. The slowest crash of their eyelashes, made her drunk in love. But the hug, always the hug; woke her up from this pleasant, romantic dream! 😛
The emotions trapped, the words left unsaid. The pain hidden, the care left behind. The Hi, the Hello, the Why and the What; when it all gets replaced by a single Bye… Isn’t it more about the ego than the mistakes made? Is it right to stay quiet, wait for the chapters to unfurl on it’s own, without taking any action by ourselves? Is it right to wait until THE very end? When it wouldn’t even matter at all?
When Chaos & Order join hands. ❤
So here’s a doodle after a very long time. 🙂
Paper used: 8.1/4″ x 11.1/2″ Sketch Pad of 120 GSM.
Pen: Pigma Micron 03 (0.35 mm), Pigma Micron 005 (0.20 mm), Pigma Brush.
How’s it? Let me know what you bloggers feel about it! 😀
Sometimes I feel we as humans, live in an extremely dramatic way. For instance, in the animal kingdom, it is either of the three: Love, Kill or Ignore. But we, overflowing in our tons and millions of emotions continue living as though enacting a Shakespearean play on stage. The play of an extremely long duration. Our entire lifetime!
Hardcore tragedies, romantic, out-of-the-ordinary love stories, bone-chilling thrillers, etc. are bound to grab our attention and eyeballs. People notice what is extraordinary. They notice what is weird. They notice what is NOT normal. For a moderate play? A play without any exciting scenarios or a near-attractive storyline? Well, even in the presence of fine artists and actors, the play is good for nothing. It becomes redundant. It loses its charm, its magic. It loses the very base upon which it holds itself upright.
The audience would not even bother to wait till the end of the act. They waste not a minute on the common man, the common stories, the stories that they see everywhere around anyway. Without even paying for it. They do not consider it important enough to be noticed. But should they even? Is it even worth to sacrifice ourselves to mediocrity? I think not.
She was unnaturally calm today. Like the firm pebble in the river, true to its weight. Like the delicate roots of a plant, loyal to gravity. Like the young leaves sticking strong to its branches, even as the current of wind shakes the tree roughly about.
She had no feelings of hatred today. Nor of spite, or remorse or helplessness. But there most certainly was one thought in those tiny brain cells, interrupting her calm demeanour: Till when? When should she stop ‘acting’ mean and egoistic? Is it even necessary to lower her moral for another roguish person? Will it be forgivable to taint her own soul for the mistakes of the other? When would be ‘The End’? Is there even a chance for any ceremonial end? Or would it simply be a full stop without the opportunity for a goodbye? She took a deep breath. Tried to think about a solution. History repeats itself, she read it in the book she was trying to read. Which did little to lift her spirits.