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Monthly Archives: February 2017

that dreamy snare image painting

That Dreamy Snare

From the deepest alcoves of my mind, you somehow always make it back. This time so powerful! Appearing like a memory so strong that it was hard to shake you off. Another dream like a bazillion others, I wish you would never come back. But

Bruno Catalano Missing Piece

The Missing Piece

I miss everything about you. All it takes is one glimpse, and I melt away like a candle. I can distinctly hear that silent noise of defeat as my heart’s warmth eats me up. I can put a finger to that feeling, I surmise –

The ugly life of Precedence childhood image

The Ugly Life of Precedence

There isn’t a body around me. No one I could call mine. No one who could call me his. Seems everything is crouching away from me, cringing its claws into the hollows of self-absorption. I have seen people do that. Forget you! Like you never

love is a drug image of broken love

Love is a Drug You Can’t Really Get Over

I’ve seen you so many times now. I am losing track. Your memories are getting stronger. Instead of getting hazy, they are going conspicuous. Very unusual but I’ve forgotten everything bad about you now. Love does that to you, I guess. Yesterday I had a

My Me Time Photography

My Me Time

It is in these moments I feel kind of empty, when I sit with my laptop and feed my fingers the stiff of the keys, when I have nothing to do, and no clue what to type. There is nothing going on. But I still

writing a letter

A Letter to No One

I can’t forget one particular day in my life. A chapter in my leaflet that made me immensely gloomy when I was quite young. This was way before I was introduced to the concept of love. It holds a special place in my heart because

image for the post The Future Me

The Future Me

I wish to peek a glance into my future. The clouded timeline that patiently waits ahead. I wonder what it has got in store for me. Does all my backbreaking struggle really pay off? I wonder if the “future me” thanks me enough for building

image for withering pages of love

Withering Pages of Love

This is my hour. My moment. When the world goes numb in misery, I wake up to tell stories of grief. They are the sad kinds, ones that are bound to leave imprints upon dried cheeks. This is my time. I croon and rant it away.

Image of an Antique Watch Deja Vu

Deja Vu

I woke up with a start. Images from my dream, still fresh, wizened gradually like mist, as I came to my senses. “Hadn’t I witnessed an accident? Wasn’t I driving? Where was I?” Those memories began to fade as I looked up at the clock.

image for a world of dreamers

A World of Dreamers

Showing up at weird intervals of time, my deferred dreams flicker akin a broken light. Some dreamer does that to me. When I forget that I am a dreamer too, out of nowhere comes along something or someone with a dream to tell me –