Sm every(prenominal) cruelties    Maybe this isnt real; maybe it is   scarce me unable to wake up from a grotesque,  carriage-scarring dream. But, as I look around, wide awake, sweeping my fingers across the cold   ecru padded walls, I realize that this was just me, fooling myself to consolation. This   dark is all too real. Im confined   indoors these hostile four walls. I recall scenes from movies, the instances when little children   leave  bug  sur font kidnapped, and they are heard wailing, I just wanna go home.   Sometimes, I wish I could just explode out of my  vapidness and scream the same thing. Only the fact is- this was no movie. This isnt one where the kid escapes and returns home, or  receives rescued. This is where he decays himself in the  mark of delusion and abandonment. This is where every  mean solar  twenty-four hours of my existence breathes into a dungeon. The repetitive,  impossible seam of reality.     Every day, I think; Im done scrolling back to my past- to    that breathtakingly touching face of Ashiya. But its like an opiate; it slowly drains me out of my own will and into the  appall vortex of  fund. Though my memory seemed to be losing its strength day by day, somehow an  unexpressible hunger, vengeful and virulent, leads me back to that  powerful image.

  I was a  schoolboyish and ambitious man- filially bonded to all my people,  turbulently interwoven to those who mattered. I took life in poetic and philosophical terms, with every moment  being a wise  unless witty choice of Mother Nature. I was fulfilled; everything I wanted was almost always within my reach. My best    friend, Rahul, was my anchor. He and I were !   a family, and we shared all our ideas indiscriminately, and put  mass rebellion with good, cornfield violence. He was an  hefty man, with a  mentality that arrogantly sliced its way  with every  tender moment in my life. Then  at that place was Ashiya- the Noor of my eye.   Painfully beautiful, thats what she was. She was an angel amongst us mortal beings, with a golden  nimbus skirting around her obsidian curls. She had a face that...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: 
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