It's a strange story, yours and mine. It's like we know, but not quite.
"You're playing games with me, aren't you?"
"Games? No. I'm not playing games".
With that smile? no...of course not.
Sometimes I want to tell you that, this is not who I am. This is what I've become. This weak spluttering thing, with no imagination or life. And I've been like this for too bloody long. If you would have met me during some other time, in some other planet, or maybe in my dreams, I'd be nicer. Not some lazy, godforsaken sloth who'll be a slave to anyone or anything. I don't blame you, or anyone. It's just the way things are now. A few days ago, I just sat and thought about it for a bit. And I didn't feel angry, or sad or happy or curious or anything. I felt absolutely nothing. I couldn't find enough torment inside me to write silly little poems or contrived stop-motion phrases about the angst and pointlessness of it all (existence i.e.). I really wish I could. It would give me something to laugh about.
I'm a boring enough person. There is not much turbulence in my life. It's all very predictable and sometimes even enjoyable. I can't complain much. You really needn't have happened. Come April, and it will all be over anyway. But what's with the foolish games? Can't you let a stupid person be?
My readers must pardon me for this hormonal post. I've often read other blogs, and wondered, damn, when will I get my chance to be type out a soppy, angsty unrequitted lover kind of post. You know, where the guy's always a bitch, and you are all weird and wonderful in your passion and shit - saying your goodbyes and letting it all come out. Great vouyeristic reads. Anyway. My story, like I said, is strange. It's difficult to explain to friends, or to myself even at my most honest moments. Maybe it's nothing, Maybe it's just a little castle of teenage confusion I like to build and dwell inside for a bit. Maybe because I'm instinctively maternal but also untrusting and distant because of what life has taught me. Maybe it's because I see a great adventure in the little things that are exchanged between us. Like a text message or a cigarette or an unexpected smile.
I hate being so haunted.

Anyway. Mercentile interest taking over. Check out the 'Vautch' section. Come to Fest o Comm if you are in Pune. And see this too while you're at it. http://www.simc.edu/festocomm.htm