.a written note.

if it leaves, it’s not pain. It never was. If at all it hits you hits you hard, it’s like a blue ink it leaves behind stains that refuse to vanish no matter who’s doing the laundry. It entertains like a dream long enough to confuse you into reality and it elopes into a faraway land turning you into a melancholic mess engulfed in solitude that becomes a more fathomable, a more comfortable white-sheets bed. So, in your mind you may think you're alone all indulged on your own, what will you answer if I say I too am one, one of your irrational thoughts or loathsome imageries that hide behind the curtains of your eyes? I am the sight you thought you lost. I am the intrigued audience when you’re on stage. Therefore, let there be a time apart from their goody mouth and promising handshakes for they're all true and pretentious at their own convenience and you must not ever stand waiting For you have a universe within you dying to come alive and kill with a smile.

Its Summer, but though irregularly enough, its been raining since last week. Its cold outside and inside, its more like a storm that I can't figure if feels cold, deadly cold or hot. Its a feeling that sleep won't come to me tonight. If anyone asks me what I want to do, I'd say I want to shut the door, remove the curtains and open the window. I want to turn the lights off and light a candle beside the window and stare at it until my eyes close. And suddenly I am woken up out of these thoughts by the shouts and cries I hear in my neighbourhood. Its strange how I've never failed physically though I feel like a storm emotionally. I get up, walk up to the balcony and I now regret coming here. The cries are so unbearable to ears that I can almost have an idea of how it must be paining the lady shouting a block next to where I live. I can hear people trying to stop her doing all that publicly but I can see them failing. I believe she's alive. I believe she's s...