Not in a mood to write

 11:28 pm 14th November , 2026.

Not in a perfect mood to write.

But if it’s imperfect then I don’t mind either.

The important point is to self talk.

Apparently, what I’ve been noticing is totally shutting down the business of writing and slowly watering my other variant which germinated or forked out in last few years after separation.

I saw the post - you can say I infiltrated into your account spying through the visuals and reading the lines, speculating the person hidden in your words.

Being aware that I feel myself center of the universe, instantly I pre assumed This guy is me, That girl is missing me. I made her feel this way.

But, Let’s keep this notion that I was never the planet revolving around your center.

I was probably a little star you dreamt about because I told that I shine better.

The moment you saw life you felt - you realised that I was lying about my beauty when I wasn’t.

Even if the beauty I was speaking was fake, the affection was crude.

After so many years, things are settling in the bloodstream and I still feel that I am slowly sticking small stickers on my wound to make my look attractive.

Deep inside I know - I know myself that I am small.

Who told - I don’t cry

Who told - I don’t cry, I don’t grieve

The moment we met for the first time,

I wanted to surprise you,

That’s why - I covered you in my arms, You looked surprised, your eyes were full of love 

The moment when I look at our old pictures - I smile, I cry and I let it go.

I let my version flow outwards,

I let myself survive through whatever I am.

Deep inside a fuel to burn

 A deep sorrow sits.

A heaviness.

It speaks violently inside.

2.05 am at midnight. I asked.

It made me trembling, why there’s so much noise?

Long back, my raw tiny self was crying in silence.

To the most important person when it asked why not me?

She to me - I am worthless.

My tiny self lost its home.

It cried. Wept.

Took a promise that it will survive somehow but keep proving, demanding justice and hoping.

Asking god and reassuring it was worthy.

It still cries for itself, deep down its a wound, the human still lives inside taking care of the self promise.