today.
today finally the book-rack that my father bought for me is full of books that i enjoy reading. today, i look at the titles on the book spines and wonder what i remember from these books. characters, plots, lines, page numbers, dedications, cover illustrations, prices, what not.
today, i look at these books and feel like shredding them into bits and pieces...but no, that is not what i want. i want to treasure them. i want to stack them up until there is no space in my room to breathe. i want to flip through the pages, memorize the lines so that when someone comes up to me and asks - what is the purpose of life, or how do you define happiness, or why do we cry, or what does it mean to fall in love - i can blurt out a blurp from these pages. insignificant fiction.
today, i wanted to go bankrupt. i walked through the aisles of Bhatbhateni - replications of replications of replications - repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat - and i wanted to drop down on the floor and wail. i wanted to cry out to my content. i wanted to shout. i wanted to scream. i wanted to spend the last paisa in my account on mugs. mugs. mugs. mugs. all i wanted to do was break down. today, i could not even break down.
lies and honesty are both the same. i am honest about my lies and i lie about honesty. play of words. words of play. i am in love and i am not in love. i am like that bird who builds up its own nest; unlike the bird, i build them with lies. always scared that one weak twig is going to crumble down the whole house.
today, what is important for me? love. something like love. honesty. family. mother. father. books. there are no punctuation marks that can express my stress.
today i climbed into a micro and screamed at the conductor. i refused to climb down. i refused to be muffled down. i refused to love them. i refused them my love. i refused them my courtesy. i refused.
today, i want to tell you that this is going too fast for me. today i want to tell you that my honesty is not brave enough for love. today i want to tell you that you must read this with judgement. you read this with bias. you read this with love. you read this with honesty. you read this for me. today, no money would buy me content or comfort in what i am. today, no journey could convince me of my uncertainty. today, i fall down. today, i break apart. today, i write.
today.
today, this day is important. today i faced my lies. today i live those lies.
today, i post this because silence...today, i post this because silence.
today.
today.
today, i keep wanting to say today.
today finally the book-rack that my father bought for me is full of books that i enjoy reading. today, i look at the titles on the book spines and wonder what i remember from these books. characters, plots, lines, page numbers, dedications, cover illustrations, prices, what not.
today, i look at these books and feel like shredding them into bits and pieces...but no, that is not what i want. i want to treasure them. i want to stack them up until there is no space in my room to breathe. i want to flip through the pages, memorize the lines so that when someone comes up to me and asks - what is the purpose of life, or how do you define happiness, or why do we cry, or what does it mean to fall in love - i can blurt out a blurp from these pages. insignificant fiction.
today, i wanted to go bankrupt. i walked through the aisles of Bhatbhateni - replications of replications of replications - repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat - and i wanted to drop down on the floor and wail. i wanted to cry out to my content. i wanted to shout. i wanted to scream. i wanted to spend the last paisa in my account on mugs. mugs. mugs. mugs. all i wanted to do was break down. today, i could not even break down.
lies and honesty are both the same. i am honest about my lies and i lie about honesty. play of words. words of play. i am in love and i am not in love. i am like that bird who builds up its own nest; unlike the bird, i build them with lies. always scared that one weak twig is going to crumble down the whole house.
today, what is important for me? love. something like love. honesty. family. mother. father. books. there are no punctuation marks that can express my stress.
today i climbed into a micro and screamed at the conductor. i refused to climb down. i refused to be muffled down. i refused to love them. i refused them my love. i refused them my courtesy. i refused.
today, i want to tell you that this is going too fast for me. today i want to tell you that my honesty is not brave enough for love. today i want to tell you that you must read this with judgement. you read this with bias. you read this with love. you read this with honesty. you read this for me. today, no money would buy me content or comfort in what i am. today, no journey could convince me of my uncertainty. today, i fall down. today, i break apart. today, i write.
today.
today, this day is important. today i faced my lies. today i live those lies.
today, i post this because silence...today, i post this because silence.
today.
today.
today, i keep wanting to say today.
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