• wisteria_ 74w

    I'm unable to write anything else. So it's just me having conversations with myself.

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    What do you write when you can't think of what to write? Maybe I'm just making an attempt to stand a bit closer to myself. How do you squeeze words out of fluctuating happiness, and a sense of peace that flickers like a candle in wind?

    These days I go to bed and feel like a child lost in market, looking for a familiar face. Sometimes I think, certain dysfunctionality doesn't stop you from looking for your parents in a crowd of unknown. I go to bed, like a shivering child.

    Especially, when you dream of death, mostly of your loved ones, mornings after are just like those antibiotics, gulped hurriedly, choking a throat. What more can you do, before you part with people, with places, with yourself?

    In all the doing, and not letting oneself sit with some thoughts, we all lose parts of ourselves that have a time limit. There's only a certain time you have, to remain human, I feel. And then you just exist, like a bag of memories. Maybe.

    I am still human enough. I smiled at a child today. She smiled back. I felt alive in that moment, the way I wasn't in past days. I cried in the cafeteria, a few days ago, thinking I'm back to school days, which I tried so hard to forget. It's still difficult to be the one, whose words rarely come out of mouth, in happy groups.

    I'll be alright I guess. I like to think so.