Sunday.

Dear Zonk,

My kitchen is almost done, at last. Things are pretty much all where they should be. I went out yesterday after the longest time and it was nice. Now, I’m sitting here in my living room, with my legs stretched out in the best corner of the diwan and the AC on and the TV off and everything is quiet. And still.

My house is empty right now. And it feels really fucking nice.

I could stay and tell you more things but I think I’ll go read instead and be lazy until the kitchen guy comes to ruin my Sunday again.

Love always,
K.

 

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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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