An illusionist’s guide to daily life

they said love needs no reminder yet her closet was full.The terrible pain of wishing she wasn’t who she was, stole her young years.Her world was one big ‘Maya’.One that takes a daily amount of feeding and sustenance.As her world grew bigger she was one with herself,She became Maya the illusionist.

The mirror:

‘it wasn’t that she dint love someone or…. was it?’,she never knew,’the answers never came or… were they just too late?’.A memory of a feeling, an echo of the hormones ravage her solitude ,and a familiar haunting trace was triggered.Yet, never brought a face or a name.All she could do was smile and cast her magic, as her insatiable heart found a prey to bite its teeth on.Her first lesson as she grew up,an illusionary skill she had mastered, and it was in all its senses magical.

the second trick:

there was no protocol,no rule,no method with specificity about the second skill she had to master ,It was original to each illusionist’s practice.She had picked up the illusion of happiness.Everybody likes the merry men and women.A simple notion that built the second fundamental skill for every illusionist.The ability to build a bubble around people that could envelope every fear,every idea,every concoction of their insecure minds built to last in the evolutionary progression over generations.She is a jolly woman,many an acquaintance would be caught saying,entrapped in her second talent.

the question:

there was always one question that each one of her friends din’t like to be asked.Even at the lightest moment of their lives they would frown and try their hand at dodging the bullet,tricking the illusionist? A fruitless task she let her friends endeavor on.As she lie in the evenings estranged from the day,she wondered what was hers.Every person has their own form of identity crisis,her identity crisis boiled down to the question,like a trapdoor into her compulsive thinking.Her whole world collapsed every time the thought would hit her spectrum of mind and she would feel robbed of an identity,it was the chink in her armor that no one but her knew,but she knew she was a work in progress.

an eventless day:

Just an another boring day in her life.the safety of a routine-less chaotic life,devoid of self disappointment.

Beginning at a nonspecific time ,ending with the dark taking over and the surrender of the conscious mind.the wild seconds trickling down to join the continuous flow of time she felt she had underutilized.Her illogical rationalizations, hoping the wasted energies bind in another dimension and cohesively write the working of her future.Surrendering to the rebellious part she broke the social constructs that tried to define her.her empty diary filled with ghosts of past haunting her lines,waiting for the burst of emotions and feelings that could lead to vents of her unyielding hand held by efforts of echoing insecurities and procrastination.In the brink of breakthrough in her mind the body gave way ,buckled and the night took over her.

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