No, I don’t.

No, I don’t think of you.
Like I don’t think about the sun
That shines warmly on me
As I walk against the cold winds.
No, I don’t care about you.
Like I don’t care about all the sleep
That I keep losing over you
Knowing, one day, it’ll embrace me anyway.
Of course, I don’t pay attention to you.
Like I don’t pay attention to the air
That feeds my very existence
Only to feel truly alive in your presence.
I don’t think.
I don’t care.
I don’t pay attention.
I just, love.

On “Loss”…

It is not always about when you lose something. It’s about when you realize you’ve lost it. And are never going to get it back. It’s hard to tell whether each loss adds a burden to your existence or creates a void within you. May be, both. Who would have thought that voids could make you feel heavy? Ironical.

On ‘Being Vulnerable’…

I like when I make myself.

Always have.

Always will.

But I don’t like when other people make me.

Because, sooner or later they all leave.

All of them.

And I am stuck with myself.

I become the constant reminder of people who could have stayed but chose to leave instead. People I became vulnerable for. People I let myself change for. People I had gotten used to. People that never got used to me though.

And so, when they made me, they made sure that living with myself, after they leave, becomes unmanageable for me. To the point that if I am strong enough, I make myself again. And if I am not, which is usually the case, I allow myself to be made again.

Until one day, I leave myself, and no one has to make me again.

Surpassing Vanity

One moment, I look ahead

A million stories run behind me

And a thousand others beside me.

I turn, but nothing changes.

Nothing but the direction,

Where I now gaze.

Some explicit tales,

Plethora of tacit ones –

Incessantly narrated.

Nothing changes.

So why should I?

Care to turn back

Care to confront

In a world where,

Assumptions guide notions

And story breeds stories.