I stepped out of my house after a week, can’t say that I liked it, it was overwhelming for me to be out in the open after so long. This fraction of light could not pull out the darkness from inside me.

I hauled myself to the park in hope of some solitude and peace. I wasn’t in the mood to be around a yard of people. I despise going to the parks, they are always too boisterous, and being around a bunch of people makes me feel claustrophobic. Regardless of my feelings, I still went and contrary to my expectation, the park was empty. But I know that it won’t be for a long time as my thoughts were going to fill this place up. But anyways, it was deserted and the air was fresh and unscathed by any other human.

So I took a deep breath and inhaled as much as I could before my loneliness polluted it.

I found a bench, it was the only bench there on the extreme right of the park, as lonely as me. I sat down and gave a deep sigh as if I was tired of carrying my own body. I never felt this heavy in myself. My soul was becoming a burden to me, but where can I leave it? Can I take it out of my body and leave it here? I can not unless the time comes for it to leave this dreaded place.

I have heard people say, “Always look up to the sky, whether you are sad or happy, never forget to look up and feel how blessed you are to be alive. I did the exact thing, In the hope that I would feel the same, alive. I looked up, yes it was beautiful, it was blue, not the dreary blue but enchanting blue, which is pleasing to look at and it was terrifyingly clear that I could see my reflection in that and my reflection was the last thing I wanted to see. It scared me, that almost for a second it felt like the sky would come down crashing on me. I abruptly turned away and closed my eyes.

I do exist, but it is unknown, even to me. I exist silently out here but loudly up in my head. What kind of existence is that? What name do I give to this kind of living? As I sat there under that blue giant orb, on this beautiful day, yes a beautiful day in my desolate life. I listened to the loud beatings of my heart. It felt like I wasn’t aware that I too carried the same heart as any other person. I wanted to ask, what is it like in there and how are you even surviving?

I felt it beating so vigorously that I almost had the desire to pull it out of my chest and see what it looked like. Does it live differently inside different people? They take care of their hearts, but I have given it nothing but my absence and brutality, so I wanted to see how it has been living inside me.

For a second I had the impulse to understand life, I wanted to caress things, I wanted to discern things not just with my eyes but with my soul. Maybe it wasn’t that dark inside, maybe there was light, a faint, glinting somewhere in the corner struggling its way around. 

I felt it, I felt it too deeply that it was painful for me to even feel alive. This pain was horrible but delightful at the same time. The first time I experienced what it was like to be alive, I felt the weight of it and never knew it would be this heavy and unbearable. I almost cried, and I cried, and I cried. I cooped my head in my hands, they were warm. How could they be warm when my whole body was cold, I thought. I stayed like that for a while and I cried until my tears dried out and left their mark on my face like the epitaph on a grave. 

I got up and left without looking back. And I thought to myself, “God! I hate parks.” I walked away with another heavy memory to carry.

Pragati Shandil

I am a creative enthusiast, driven by a curiosity about life and everything that it encapsulates. Currently meandering through the journey of self-discovery, and what makes me a better human. Writing my way through life and trying to bring something meaningful, something buoyant into this world with my writings. What makes me a blahcksheep is my ability to draw from life, my thoughtfulness, and my obsession with words, which I believe have the power to change life, if used graciously.