Not much

Somedays you take stock and realize just how little you have to go on. Time flies. And you are left buried in its sands when you don't know what you're doing with it. There used to be a reason once. But all to no end. 

Spend years trusting you'd amount to something. And when you have just this you know..we aren't much at all.
 

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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.

2 thoughts on “Not much”

  1. No, we're not much at all. Reasons come and go, and I guess what you amount to doesn't really ever matter because at every point in time everything you've been and everything you can be is far more beautiful than who you are. Time may occasionally bury you, but time has a way of washing away most of what's transient and preserving only the truly significant. That's mostly why the past seems so perfect, because these moments shine out like stars in the night sky.Time does fly though, and we aren't much at all.Philosophically yours,-ZonkP.s. You should learn to make good coffee. It might save your life someday.

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