Thought Jukebox

Did you know that the centre of a Protostar (the star in the middle of a nebula) is called a Nuclear Furnace? So you can call that the star's "heart". The heart of a star is a furnace. Not much unlike the human heart." - C. Joybell C. To my fellow-star tenant,  Thank you for the adventure.  Space and time had a fight. A break in the continuum, a shooting star you wished upon that was already dead. What you believed was infinite, was empty. Empty like the vacuum in your heart when they took a piece of you and you let them. Is there a word for that? Now that you finally understand why storms are named after people and nebulae are not? You, you are made of stardust- they crushed you and you let them. And isn’t that how stars are born? Crumble. Collapse. Burn. Glow. The twinkle in the stars you used to wish upon was replaced by the twinkle in your eyes. Is there a word for that? What you wish for may destroy you, Who you love...

War clouds gather, here comes the rain.  War never changes. War loves courage. War loves passion. War loves peace. War loves piecing macabre tales, end on end, and death after death. War loves retelling survivor story after survivor story, forgetting the guilt, the hurt and the anguish of unchained memory. We are, after all, in so many ways, just prisoners of war. Prisoners, you and I. Enslaved. (Though not of the same wars.) And everywhere I go now, I see prisoners- prisoners of hope, prisoners by betrayal and prisoners by choice. The ropes that bind the fragile wrists of one are ropes that rescue another. While the non-combatant reads between the (side) lines of War, The Pacifier realises that this is War in all its forms. This is loss in all its forms. War loves patience. War loves endurance. War loves loss. Loss- when you lose something you thought you’d never have to live without. Loss- when you lose something you fought so hard to...

(A/N- Because life is my muse, and I am the one that translates its grief to art.)  This is a story, but it has no ending. I am a storyteller but until now, I’ve let someone else write my story. I’ve let someone else map my beginning, middle and end, Write the message so that all I had to do was click ‘Send’, I’ve let someone else tell me about the life I should live, I’ve let someone take what I was not ready to give. This is my story and here is the beginning. Once upon a time, someone told me that we were excerpts from a story that hadn’t been written yet. It was one that I hoped I could write someday. For it only seemed fitting that a story would create for me, A world I love more than this- free from the ‘labyrinth of suffering’. But, Reality destroys the fairytales we believe in, And this was no exception. Like a stream of lava trickling down the rocky boulders of what Life tried to build, It engulfed all in its path, word-by-word, chap...

A Letter to Anyone who feels like they want to hold on to something that Life wants them to let go of. "Oh, the pain. The pain. It always rains. In my soul." - John Green, Paper Towns.  Dear Reader, When you want to hold on to a dream or a love for anything, and you feel like the world wants you to walk away but you want to stay, I know how it feels. And I think everyone does. I know you feel like the X you drew on a map so many years ago, seems further than ever. I know you feel like you cannot appreciate yourself, no matter how hard you try because your efforts do not seem enough. I know all these things because I know the look in your eyes, the look of tamed frustration of holding on to something that does not want to be held on to. I too understand what it feels like to burn with the fiery desires that man possesses and get burnt. I too understand what it feels like to have that heart made of firewood have its flames doused by the suddenly ever-pr...