My slumbering days are turning into tikka masala curry days and of applying hand lotion, sitting for hours reading and thinking and writing, writhing in no abnormalities but just deep-bellied sleep and soaking in the presence of minimal persons and a fluffy multi-colored cat named after a Shakespeare character. I no longer feel that gut-wrenching sensation but I mostly feel this strong craving to achieve things better, to demand more out of what’s what and to strive for it and work for it and learn as many skills as I can.

Not everything that is beautiful is far away. I dislike thinking about how I will never be anybody’s cup of fancy to pocket permanently but I fear that it is true and walls will never be easy to let down but as for now I am content to just be that whitewashed figure who writes you letters several times a year and let us just leave it at that with the absence of punctuation marks at the back.