Crying For C3-PO

   A time comes when you've to fathom the moment of the realization of how much has changed in your life. Your father doesn't get mad over late night over stays, you mother doesn't ask you to come for the dinner. You’re no longer the strongest hero of your younger siblings. You are just some over eighteen years old guy who thinks everything will go well once your written work gets published somewhere. You’re just a lonely writer with a coffee on your table that has gone cold; the message on your phone of your lovely significant other goes unread. And it’s the third time of the day you realize you’ve got nightmares. Not a single dream with a good end these days.

   

   Why? Why is that? Why do we see the happy ends in bad ends and try to make them realizations and turn them toss them and twist them into reality. Why am I not the person the thirteen years old I predicted me to be? The thirteen years old me who drew space ships on the wall and pretended the ceiling was the sky to explore. If only I had sat in them and gone forever. But I didn’t. For I didn’t want to be alone, I wanted to look for someone who I can take there. In the search I lost my thirteen year old self. I lost my innocence.

I lost my spaceships.

   I want them back. I want to sail again in the stardust. I want to feel like myself again but how? How do we do that? Everyone else seems to be already sailing to the sun sets they colored together. but here you are with your broken pencils and nothing to write. Go ahead. Lie in your god damn bed and clutch the bed sheet. And think of your thirteen years old self crying for a C3-PO. 



- Zain Rizwan