shhruti

Time passes.

I do stuff.

Some of it matters.

Some of it doesn’t.

Suddenly the town was too small.

I hated it.

I loathed it.

The closeness of people; suffocating.

Time isn’t perfect.

It’s not neat and tidy.

It’s not a straight line.

It’s not a precise science.

It overlaps and crosses over and splinters and gets lost.

It’s not a concept!

Sometimes it’s a spark.

Sometimes it’s a fire.

Sometimes it’s a moment.

Sometimes, I think I don’t know who I am. Maybe the song I listened to this morning or the web series I watched last night or the book I read the other day or the person I met last week.

A bundle of personality traits.

An endless collection of characters.

Do you know who you are?

Good girls aren’t loud.

They don’t sit like that.

They don’t carry themselves that way.

They don’t, they don’t, they don’t.

“Don’t push your luck!”,

They said

“If I don’t get to push it, what’s the point of it?”,

I longed to get away from here.

I don’t know yet, where I’ll go but somewhere.

Near the horizon, around the corner.

Isn't it crazy that we so want something but can't have it because we know for fact that it won't work?

but then isn't that how you think about everything?

that self-imposed exile?

that skipped date?

that excuse for not doing things?

you denial yourself

"I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine."

~Elizabeth Bennet