I don't keep a Journal. I never do. What if one fine morning suddenly someone finds it. Will get to know all my secrets. However, most cautiously, will get to know about all my grudges. 

I have heard that people come and they go. They leave behind a scar. That can just be considered as the collateral damage. It's the nature'i rule. Why should we accept it as it should be? To console ourselves? To provide condolence to pacify our broken heart? I never gave them the power to destroy me, break my trust, break me into a million pieces. O wait. I should just forgive them and move on right? Because that is what we should do. 

I know I don't deserve this. No one does. It just happens. Hey it happened because you weren't matured at that point of time and you definitely will learn several things from this experience that would help to shape your future. But why? Is it my fault that I wasn't matured enough? Do I really need to go through so much of an unbearable pain and agony to reach the stage of maturity and realising the wisdom that lies within adulthood?

Being a victim of mental abuse is a sad. Being the supporter of mental abuse is a crime. Peace is nowhere in the near future. We've already murdered ourselves with our own hands. What was our fault? Letting the emotions flow? Letting our feelings lead us?

One day the world will cease to glow. Not by the literal meaning. By the darkness of negativity that resides within human, affects other human and leads the path towards the destruction of jhumanity. An unsolicited hollowness, recklessly searching the meaning of life, would itself consume the entire life. Joy and festivals would just remain terms in the history book.

The expressive power would be used to fulfill desires. We would lose the urge to feel good. Present would be governed by the authenticity of apocalypse. Health and happiness would be sold as commercial products to lead a life just above the worst. Choosing worse over the worst would be deemed as the greater good. 

We'd be selling marshmallows to survive on the streets where once children used to run behind the cotton candy vendors. Peace would be what the past decides the future to be. Life would be what we decide the vendetta to be…