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Category Archives: Musings

image for brothers

Where are You?

Where did you go? Why did you disappear? You have no idea how powerless I feel when I try to do things on my own. You used to be there, always dreaming alongside. Now that place is empty. I can still think. I can still

books are parallel dimensions image the alternate universe

The Alternate Universe

Books are parallel dimensions, interwoven shades of reality hammered by our heads. It is a twitch in our brain that spurts out at contemplative junctures to say those right words that often end up being unsaid. They are also acts that never happened, the what

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Deadlines in My Head

Every second I am out of it. I feel like I am running out of time. That cliched image of me clinching sand as it slides past my palm paints the canvas in my head. I have created these little deadlines unknowingly, and I have

fading time clockpunchers of IT

Clock Punchers of IT

They would rise in unison, walk around like ghosts and would fall into their chairs as if controlled by a remote. Their big hopeless eyes would stoop with them in their dullness. Their bleak lashes would then flap occasionally to reveal more dead inside –

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Broken People

We are the broken people. The fallen souls. The shattered hearts. The twisted, constricted echoes of a hollow body. We don’t make a sound. We croon. We weep. We are always crying, fading away gradually from the inside. Our angst nibbles us every moment. It

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 –

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

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.