I was listening to a song called ‘The Winter of Our Youth’ by Bastille. It’s a pretty decent song and it’s, I think, about how the writer is not able to grow out of his childhood. It’s about how the writer keeps thinking about the past and can’t let go of it no matter how old he gets. He keeps ‘peddling back’ to it, alone and drunk. He wants to grow up, but his nostalgia keeps him stuck to his past, his days of youth. Continue reading 25th September, 2016
10th September, 2016
Since my last letter, I’ve been trying to keep my anger at bay and trying really hard to not think much about it. It worked for a few days. I felt calmer, more focused. But yesterday, it all came spiraling down. Continue reading Dear World,
4th September, 2016
I’ve always thought that sharing your emotional baggage with someone is a sin because others have their own baggage to carry and for me to add on more load on them wouldn’t be fair, would it? So, I’ve normally kept it all inside me, thinking I’m some noble warrior who needs to be knighted for bearing all that pain by myself.
The waves hit the sand and my feet-
With what it’s familiar and with what it’s not;
Confused between old and new.
The waves tingle my feet
And a star fish latches onto my skin.
It hurts but it’s stuck
Like the lull of a blue Monday morning.
The sky is grey, the air is cold.
My teeth clatter
But I don’t cover
My masochist devil.
Carry me away, wind.
Sink me in, sea.
I don’t want to exist in this pale old world.
It’s too boring, too weary, too lonely.
Step, step, step;
Shells hurt my soles.
Step, step, step;
Into the water. Cold –
Foams hit my feet and sand.
My feet wrinkled,but not as much
Wonder if they’re already addicted
To the cold and stand still.