Working day and night to make the ends meet, engrossing herself in the labyrinth of the mundanity had become her sole reason to exist.
She wore the robe of existence with dull and hopeless hues of black and white, these colors caged her life, making her forget her lost pride.
She did what she was told, even her fate was written in black on those coarse, unpromising white leaves of time, who use to mock at her saying, “Not a color less, not a color more, you are my slave, so do what you are told.”
The voices of her soul, crying for help, drowning in the sea of negativity, that was nurtered with venom by her very own fortunetellers.
Even though, her soul cried, fighting for her, making her aware of her worth, but her eyes conflicted it.
Her eyes betrayed her soul, shutting up the spectrum of light coming from her soul, making its voices unheard and its very light unseen.
The taste of this pre-cooked world was not able to digest her rawness, forcing her to refine herself according to their taste, concealing her freshness with the ordinary spices.
She kept her promise and lived her life like that invisible past forgotten, lost and left behind with no hopes of coming.
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