| It seems I’ve a penchant for broken things. When younger I saw a doll on the ground, quite shattered. The dirt round it looked like wings. So I took it home to keep it around as it was quite beautiful, like a thing almost dead but stubbornly clinging to Existence, calling entropy a fool. I didn’t dare disturb it, to try to mend the doll just seemed like sacrilege to me; rather, I found that wherever I went I’d find broken things thrown beautifully, and I’d take them home. In time, assortments of broken things became my property. Quite a sight to find what’s lacking in use not waste away but exist, though obtuse. And when I found out that my mind’s not right, that not everyone feels the way I feel, that happiness to some is not a sight in the distance but like a highlight reel often playing, it broke me to a fright where with the slightest push I could just keel over and fall into the darkest depths. The broken things, they were my biggest help. I’ve a penchant for broken things and now so am I, I try to find the beauty in it and often times it can’t be found but still I cling, and I cling stubbornly. Though obtuse, I exist and hold my ground, just like the broken things on my settee I’ve gazed at for ages, who taught me this: sometimes you win if you just exist. By Sameen Shakya Published by Novel Mint |