Listen to me, would you?

Close your eyes,

Take a deep breath in,

Hold your breath,

Now release it slowly,

Feeling the outward movement of your chest like you did when you went to the beach last Sunday and took in as much air as you could because you felt suffocated even when it was open.

Feel the texture of your skin,

The little bumps touching your tender fingers and imagine sticking happiness all over your body, because honey, you deserve it.

Put on some soft music and feel it's warmth like you did when your mom sang you lullabies and stories when you were young and you'd wrap your tiny arms around her while looking at those neon yellow-colored stars stuck on the ceiling of your room and prayed that her story doesn't end and slowly yet beautifully, you lost yourself in her story until you fell asleep.

You feel a little calm, don't you?

I know you've been through a lot. I know you've forgotten the taste of love. I know you know that you think a lot.

About those friends that you promised to meet next week. About the face of your father who has worked so hard from such a young age and try to figure out if he is really happy. About your mother who left all her hobbies when she was young and sees herself in you when you paint your canvas. About the assignments that you have to submit on Monday which you have completed but don't know what you'll tell when you'll approach the teacher to submit them. About how you'll ask the rickshaw driver to drop you a little inside the narrow lane where no rickshaw driver readily agrees to drop. About the way, you yelled at your mother in the morning. About the tear stains on your cheek.

And most importantly, about what you've become and if you'll ever get better. All this seems to be never-ending, doesn't it?

But do you know that deep inside you burns a fire that gives you warmth, that deep inside you, amongst all the chaos is a calm that is not you being numb?

Haven't I told you that you are poetry that is yet to be completed? Just keep experiencing your words and it'll be fine.

You'll be fine, you've got this, okay?

Do you remember how you used to draw flowers and butterflies and fill some parts of it with glitter and happiness would start building its cocoon in you?

You were always an artist, weren't you?

Do you remember how sometimes the crayon would slip from your fingers and go out of borders and you tried to fix it by turning it into something beautiful? Well, you will do the same with your life too.

Do you remember how you used to sing and practice your 'ragaas' and would try again and again and yet again till you got them in the right tune?

Hang on to yourself. Will you? Try again and again and yet again, will you?

Do you want me to run my fingers in your hair and hug you tight while you cry? Do you want me to sit all night silently and watch the sunrise with you? Do you want me to make some coffee while we watch it? I know how looking at the sun rising in the morning and looking at the clouds in the evening gives you a beautiful and calm smile, lighting the freckles on your face which look like constellations when traced and are worth writing poetry for. YOU are worth writing poetry for.

You know that, right?

I real