found an old notebook today with random lists and half-finished thoughts from years ago—made me realize how much i used to put into writing but never shared with anyone—like i could have poured it all out and maybe connected but now it just feels like all these words are stuck somewhere inside and nobody to give them to
yaar, matlab samjho na, sometimes i just sit there scrolling through contacts like kya hua, nobody gets it, nobody calls, और वो दोस्त भी अब बात नहीं करता, जैसे सब खो गया हो, घर वाले समझते नहीं, और फिर वो चुप्पी- बस भारी होती है.
so my ex calls cps on me out of nowhere and suddenly i am showing some stranger my grocery receipts like they are rare artifacts, and then they comment on my overly organized spice rack as if that proves i am a good parent. like, can i get an award for playing hide and seek with my stress over the smell of overripe bananas in the kitchen?
so my ex calls cps on me out of nowhere and suddenly i am showing some stranger my grocery receipts like they are rare artifacts, and then they comment on my overly organized spice rack as if that proves i am a good parent. like, can i get an award for playing hide and seek with my stress over the smell of overripe bananas in the kitchen?
कभी कभी लगता है जैसे सब लोग अपनी जिंदगी में आगे बढ़ रहे हैं और मैं बस यहाँ अपने छोटे से अपार्टमेंट में बैठा हूं, इस बार भी असफलता के बाद, न तो कोई काम है, न पैसे हैं, और घर वाले समझते नहीं। दीवारों पर टंगे पन्नों की गिनती कर रहा हूं, जब कुछ यादें आती हैं और ये सोचता हूं कि क्या कभी कुछ हासिल होगा...