Wednesday, January 21

Bahut nikle mere armaan, lekin phir bhi kam nikle

The whole growing up deal. You start out thinking it implies something. That bits of you will just die. You can't feel things the way you once did, all too easily, all too frequently.
But then. There are these moments, where the universe cuts you down to size in a split second. And all of a sudden it feels like there's an actual tumour in your chest caused by feeling everything a little too intensely. A hardened lump of what you assume (secretly hope) will go away and leave you relatively more dignified and a little more boring, but also significantly more peaceful.
Where you think that shitfuck you might just die from feeling things too intensely.
Being old doesn't get to mean losing the wussiest bits of you I guess.
I'm craving one, just one, perfect conversation. With anyone. It's been too long, Internet. It makes me feel old, like I'm living in a Truman Show with really bad writing.
ATTENTION TRUMAN SHOW TYPE SHOW WRITERS: get your shit together, will you?
Just one lousy perfect conversation is what I'm asking for!