..

I have nothing to do and I'd  rather not think. Of anything. I have nothing to read. Nothing to write. Nothing to look forward to all day. Nothing to look back at and feel nice about.

11. And all I have is a day like any other. And knowing that I'm the only one to remember. And half-done songs that slide,blunder, falter and stop, looped and broken; twisting like question marks..

Goodbye.

 

 

 

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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