Gloom & Monologues

What's with these little obsessions that make me dreamy, break my heart so deep. Yet after some time they disappear like there was never any damage.

You imagine your future you that will move to a different place, not necessarily fancy, but one evening you'll be standing in the way of wind, and time will stop. Others would be around you, but no one coming close and you enjoying your own timelessness. But maybe that's not how it works. Every hour and every moment is so treacherously divided into packets of time which keep on running and getting short. You get so filled with anxiety of tomorrow that you would be standing in the way of breeze but still there would be no timelessness. Cause that only exists when you're at 'home' away from strangers, away from scavengers.

Whatever you need, needs you as much. That book which you hesitate buying, needs a reader too.

Sometimes I think how little I need to make me happy, even though it's just sadness and its tendencies which flow in me. A little house to call my own, beauty made from scratch, invisible love manifesting around the home in airy curtains, warm beds, dreamy windows, homey little kitchen with healthy supplies enough to last for the week. But then there are times when I muse over how cool it would be to have a graceful but powerful voice in the world, not stepping back on anything when you know you're right, to redefine things which you know you're good at, to give a new direction to people in the arena which is your calling, making memories with people you are grateful for, and who are grateful to you. Maybe that must be what they call living a life. And where stand I? I don't know yet, even though my retrograde schools of thought always lead me to dream of far off places swimming in evening sunshine and sustaining a garden only meant for a few. Little getaway. Maybe someday I'd know how it works. And how specifically it is going to work in my life. Someday I'll learn to choose things that are meant for me.

yes, it won't happen now, but when it will, you won't have time to keep track of days. things will flow by just like that. so before you relish in feeling pity about your boring slow life, think but only once about the tyranny of fast-paced days.

There's this comfort in the past, the lulling kind of peace, where you know you'd be safe at last.

Octobers are dangerous. The blackness in soul keeps on reeking and reeking making it thinner than ever. It's weird how Octobers are about stagnancy and transformation, both at the same time. And all it does it hurt. The weather, the wait, the body, emotions, and everything else.

Should I let my brain crack and heart melt, or should I go strong for a few miles more?

Once I turn older, will I regret not being young anymore, or will I be relieved, feeling at last I'm done with life and its decisions, as if I'm coming to an autumn evening after a long long day.

Books are good. They don't want responses. They just do silent telepathies with your heart and brain. What else can you possibly need to be comforted and stirred at the same time.

Here's to the times when happiness will be your need and not just a responsibility.

Getting mad over thinking in a way how you can serve the earth, what work do you mean to do here. But over the time I've realised maybe it's also about what you can do to sustain your own existence in a beautiful way.

Your life cracks when everything feels like a matter of selfishness and selflessness.