Thinking about the unfinished books, incomplete poems, half-done painting, yet to be cleaned cupboard, about the mess in my mind, about the fragmented thoughts passes each day at home.
The random conversation with people who are miles, states away, the discussions of different perspective on the most common thing, about the uncertainties, about the unfair treatment, about the importance of a void that’s meant to be always there for us to understand the meaning of presence, passes each day at home.
Each day at home, is new. It is beautiful and blurry. The future is the mirror of present, the past are the broken reflections of one.
We are fierce, wild, delicate, vulnerable, fragile. We are boycotted dreams and unfulfilled desires.
How versatile life is, how multifaceted humans are.
This is a write-up that’s based on my life. I know it is incoherent. It lacks flow and each stanza is no way related to the previous one, it is raw and honest. I don’t have any second choices or I wouldn’t archive posts under this title as I would be proud to look at and read these in the future. I would look back at these immature or confused thoughts in life, with pride.
Thank you so much for reading!