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Wuthering Heights: An Oak in a Flower Pot.

 

Wuthering Heights

Love, Jealous, Hatred, Vengeance! Or the Conception of prevailing sense of obscurity.
~Wuthering Heights.~
"He might as well plant an oak in a flowerpot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares!”
..
Tick Tock,
Tick Tock,
The clock points at 3o'clock.
..
3 in the morning. Obviously!
Wait, just don't tell me I'm hallucinating again!
..
You see distinguishing between day dreams and nightmares has become tough these days.
Like, I agree there's a fine line but the thin line seems to be faded.
Honestly, I haven't been able to distinguish lately whether what I did was right or wrong!
..
Coughing, Crawling, Drooling.
Suffocation, Palpitations!
Does it even matter?
No, No,
Not again.
..
This is where it all began. The sense of obscurity over inclusion. The art of not fitting among the masses anymore. A series of "over analyzed" trails and here I'm with a host company i.e., always up with rants and taunts.
Yes, I'm trying to come in compliance with the alarming whispers, followed by the silence that masks the noise of obscurity and scares the "detrimental" me.
..
"Oh! you said you cared nothing for my sufferings! And I pray one prayer–I repeat it till my tongue stiffens–Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest, as long as I am living! You said I killed you–haunt me then! The murdered do haunt their murderers."
..
You see, this host-inner company is trying it hard to fit in and believe this is just the sinister obscurity or maybe a form of love that is uncaged.
But, that's not vengeance. No hatred. The age-old crumbling walls of my beliefs still triumphs.
..
I've kept the door ajar,
Waiting for the incorporeal you
To stumble upon
at my entrance again,
And haunt me.
..
One day,
This sense of obscurity will fade.
Salve applied over my wounds.
With my soul,
Finding a way out of the Satan's dark abyss.
Followed by the inclusion.
Till then, it's me and the memories of the dead.
..
Now, you see this "inner-me" can be revolting. Always up with the explanations and beliefs of its own.
And sometimes even I just let it pour out as well.
..
Suffocation, palpitations.
No, no, not again.
Obscurity over inclusion, Perhaps!

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