Femme Imparfaite

She stopped feeling everything after few weeks. Pain, happiness, smiles, cries; everything. Only one thing flowing under her skin was nothingness. Feeling of having nothing; feeling nothing; dying of sinking to the deepest waters; where she couldn’t hear her own heartbeats. As if it was not beating and still for a moment.

Mother was crying on the phone, of her disappointments, her misfortune, her pain, and her never ending sorrows. And, all she wanted on the other side of the call was to end the call. Had it been some other day; some other moment, she would have felt the need of being with her mother, consoling her in her arms, wiping her tears off and shedding some to accompany hers. Surprisingly, she was feeling none of that.

She left him; that relationship; every relationship for that matter. She didn’t know for good or bad but she had to. Everyone thought that she is wrong. Maybe, they all are right. She didn’t know much. All she knew was that it had to end.

Not because, he was wrong or she was right. But because they were different; or maybe only she was different. She couldn’t understand him, her parents, or the quintessential decent society. She was imperfect to everyone.

An imperfect daughter, an imperfect girlfriend, an imperfect bride and an imperfect woman.

An imperfect woman who couldn’t understand the art of taking permissions; obeying orders; making herself indispensable; and having smiling lips and a sore soul. An imperfect woman who could not understand what it means when someone says, ‘sacrifice for love’.



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