Instances of being

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Oh ! the great perils of romance are that you get it at the worst times in your life. And then you savour it for the brief time you have it for. Relationships are weird and convoluted always, but on some dark days, they are your getaway car for escaping out of a war zone.

 

Instances 3/50, instances of just being.

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Instances of letting go

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Breakups are least to say difficult. But what’s worse are encountering them in unexpected places. This is a little instance where time ended up playing tricks on me and let me collide literally with my past.

Instances 2/50

Instances of dread

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A lot has happened in the last year after I stopped writing. I was a melting pot for some victories, a Lil’ of chronic depression and a lot of yo-yo-ing in life where nothing seemed right. While there is a deep pain in suffering, there are words in this too. These next 50 days I’ll write to you all that small instances which were chinks in my armour, the holes in the fortress that seemed so strong. I don’t know if they would always be my vulnerabilities, but I know that saying them out loud might after all help me.

Heres the first one, the instance of dread I feel, more so when I am forced to interact with people unknown for prospective relationships that I can actually forgo.

Destruction in Four parts.

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Unsteady, this life,
Falling into the pages,
Between others stories,
Encouraged by mere words,
Finding neither the end or the beginning.

Unsteady, these dreams,
Built from dusk to dawn,
Unraveled thread by thread,
Forced into the misery of now.

Unsteady, Blaming none,
These dark inked fingers,
Washing the evidence of blood,
These bruises of defeat,
paying an ode to the carcass of memories.

Unsteady, Moving ahead,
Breathing, smiling,
Tripping into the furnace
of naive hopes and mad dreams
once again.

I haven’t written in a while now, the words wouldn’t come to me. When words become your friends, their alienation hurts. You can’t complain to anyone about them, just that  the loss is a ghost pain. So when they do come back, I celebrate!Gregariously and morbidly even. As always, the mending of a broken person is a treasure trove of inspiration.

Confessions : Of Nostalgia

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I don’t forget the birthdays of people who actually do matter to me and I am slightly proud of it, but I almost did today owing to the million parallel thoughts in my head. In my search for some funny material for a birthday card I went through all my email conversations with him from a time when emailing about the happenings of your life was a cool thing to do. Long story short, I found this  piece of advice I gave him  for whatever life crisis he was going through during that phase. I guess my 19 year old self was truly 19 going on 60 ! 😀

 

 

This is a part of confession series, written in old sketchbooks/emails brought to life here.

Confessions Of : Inadequacy

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It is funny how  I’ve conveniently forgotten how it feels to be inadequate.  I move around in loops in my life evidently  and it’s that phase again where I stumble into life with wobbly legs and butter hands unable to hold on to my sense of confidence and questioning my existence.

 

 

This is a part of confession series, written in old sketch books bought to life here.

Confessions : Of Uncertainty

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The whirlpool of “what ifs” is terrible. Running around in circles of uncertainty can make even the most confident person falter their step. I’m not sure when I wrote this little piece, for I have moved far too many times to far too distant places, dreamed of it even. But now that I re-read it, the timing seems apt and a love far too real gets left behind again.

 

 

 

 

 

This is a part of Confessions Series. Written and forgotten in old sketchbooks, bought to life again here.