Those Who Fall And Fly

By Ojeswi Medisetti

Would I have traded everything in my world to see you smile again for me? Yes, I would, in a heartbeat but you're here, aren't you? Living, surviving, barely breathing and breaking with those eyes of regret and a heart of debt. What can I do for you? What role can I play in breathing life back into you? Surely there has to be something artistic about your lament and your heartbreak to get your soul working again. Where can I find the old you? The you who had so much light to give to this world and walked the path of love—love for your work, your art and life itself. Our souls were inseparable by paint, written in poetry, composed for singing and sculpted for love. Will you come back to me again, sweetheart? Come home to your past self despite the society's detours. I want to witness the joy you feel when you allow yourself to experience art again. I want to watch you fly with all your might, even if you don't have any wings anymore. We can always make them, stitch them ardently and change your time's fate. Once you reach your station, call me again. Let's make people connect with their lost selves and live for art again because I wonder how many incredible artists out there cut their wings off because they couldn't free themselves from the cuffs of reality.

Oh, the thought of how many masterpieces this world would never get to truly comprehend and perceive fills my heart with melancholy. If only I could hear their lost voices and thoughts in my dreams, I could piece together their most intricate feelings and weave their already phenomenal stories into beauties of delicately decorated compositions of ink. I can only begin to fathom a minuscule amount of what must've been a behemoth struggle of setting your own haven of expression on fire, along with a part of yourself forever lost to time. Nonetheless, their blazing passion is never truly lost; it lives on in the hearts of the descendants of their souls.

By Ojeswi Medisetti