The Map of Regrets.

I could have become, at various points in my life, an artist, a musician, a writer of some sort, or a bum. Someday, when I have the time and the headspace to deal with such trivial things, I will sit down and think back to all the times that I could have done something differently, and I will trace all those other routes out and imagine  how those lives would have been.

We each wear a massive, branching tree of alternate Universes strung around our necks.

Folded away inside your head is your own peculiar map of regrets.


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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