Conversations with Charles

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“What matters the most is how well you walk through the fire”, Charles Bukowski had written in one of his books. He turned me into this mess of a person who has a weak heart layered with iron.
“It is okay to cry, you’ve cried it all out of your system” ,I say to myself curling up in between the sheets.
“Oh! Who the fuck are you trying to deceive?” ,said my mentor standing right beside the door.
I like to have conversations with Charles every now and then, usually at 3 am in the morning. It is one of those times where he is talking to me. He’s the only one who calls me out on my sad bullshit.
“You don’t even know how to cry. You’ve only forced this tear droplet to convince yourself that you’re crying.”,he says, sipping on a bottle of beer and makes his way to the corner of my bed.
I sit up and light a cigarette. He takes the lighter from my hand and lights a smoke for himself too. We’re sitting in my cold dark room. “I bet your anxiety is kicking in right now.” He says and smirks, “you’re suffocating, like when someone jumps in a puddle of water and it becomes empty. It’s the same. You’re the same. You’re just as empty with spillage on the sides, kid. A temporary catastrophe of emotions.”, Charles takes a long drag of his cigarette.
“Sadness is a person sitting on my chest making it hard to breath.”, I say and grab the bottle of beer from his hand gently taking a sip. It’s nice to drink with Charles. He makes sense to me on so many levels when the world fails to.
“You get out of breath and then sedate yourself just to numb out the physical dynamics of the pain from your recent heart break. I hope that pill was enough to knock you out when you felt like reaching out to him.” He says and I nod in affirmation, “A pink pill is always helpful in controlling bouts of loneliness. It puts my heart in a cage when all it wants is to barge in through the door. I know that the doors are open and a single knock would lead me to back. Resistance is hard where the love is mutual, Charles.” I repeat to myself, “Resistance is futile.”
“But you’re lurking in a state of mind where you try to move on and your feet are running back. You still wonder kid, how can that be?” he laughs now and throws his cigarette bud on the floor, “A heart in the wrong place and a mind at the right. But, these two had declared war long ago before this person came into your life.”
“They have been at war since the past fourteen years, Charles.” I exclaim, “Don’t you remember the past wreckages of loving impulsively?”
“Ah! What lured you into the realms of heartbreak isn’t the longing for another soul. It is your addiction to the chase of wanting what you cannot have and putting in efforts to attain it. A blaspheme to the God above.” He says and I look at him wanting to refute his argument but unable to do so.
“It has reeled me back into the pit, again. I’m wondering if I can get out of this or not?” I ask him.
“Want to know a secret? You will survive this and make it out alive because you have made it out alive before. Remember, if you’re going to swim there will be times when the tide will be high enough to drown you. It takes even the best to perfect their swim against or with the currents to survive. I hope you learn to swim with the current or walk through the fire. Just keep going” He says and places his empty beer bottle on the table and before I could, he walked out the door.

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About Bano

I’m trying to find a better introduction but since, I can’t? Hi! I’m Sheher Bano Zafar and I write. I write not because there lies aspiration to be a writer someday but because, it keeps me sane. I love the color silver, black and grey. I also realize that they fall under the same color tone. Whatever, I write is a result of my 3 a.m blues or insomniac depressive tendencies. I can’t write during the day. I’m addicted to caffeine and well, anything and everything (if I like it). Also, I suck at conversations. I bite my nails. Most of the time I’m clueless about the world around me. I love politics and youth activism. People tell me that art and politics don’t belong in the same mind, but I’m passionate about both. One day I might be drawing on a canvas or writing a story and the very next day I will be heading off to attend a summit on the role of youth at the United Nations. I have multiple people trapped in the same body. Each side does try to express itself, in minimal ways if not fully. I’m currently going through a rough patch in life. I guess, I’m adjusting to the world through multiple perceptions. I absolutely love talking to myself because an expert opinion is always required. Most of the time, I just play scenarios in my mind that would never happen. I’m very contradictory in my thought process and actions but it is okay, people get to be what they want to be as long as no other soul is hurt. Peace out!

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