It has been a year.And I am a year older,wiser too I hope.I love writing in my blog,reflecting on myself - the past and the path ahead.The growth, how many branches have spread through the thorns and how the petals change its spectrums of colours,slowly to the darker shades and then wilt.Worry not, I have learnt to nourish myself under the bright streaks of sunshine that peek through the curtains of my heart.It rains sometimes,bleeding tears,thank God it is clear,not the red one,if not how could I hide all this pain that is bursting through my chest.Drowning, in my own thoughts.

Flower therapy, I called it.Just by looking at these beautiful creatures, my smile streaks across the cheek,with gleaming happiness.At night, when my heart yearns to express what deep inside I learn to mine my hidden skills - long left unrevealed.I filled the cup with water, only 1/3 of it.My hand slowly took the brush ,stroking my preferred choice of colours ,be it acrylic or watercolour.

There, I am fighting in my own arena, painting , portraying the image in my mind onto the canvas.

It has been a year, since the last wave at the airport.The final goodbye, physically I meant.Who would've thought, right? I still long for a proper closure. Would you read this? Little do I know.

Have you spare any time thinking how bad it was for me.Little do I know.

Would it hurt to inform me that you have landed here safely?Little do I know.

Do I hope that you are happy, I don't know.I do hope that I am happier.

I am better,alhamdulillah.