Dear Stranger #2

By -

 Dear Stranger,

As we grow old, the day when we leave our home it always feels that a part of us stays back. wherever we are that part calls us out. as we grow, we realize the people that were our superman and women are not so strong anymore. their smiles give away that tiredness. the backs ache but they don't tell. Anyone who has ever left home knows this feeling. For a long time, I have always dealt with this how does the city looks so different the day we are about to leave. idk how great of an answer I have, but I believe it isn't the city, it's us we try to hold as much as possible of that place where we have been through day and night but not anymore. We fear that as this moment passes it might dissolve in that endless void where most things disappear and somewhere we know that it might not be the same. the parks might change; the tracks might change. but we always wish that the home stays the same. the point we enter the door it's the same place spent our days looking at the sky dreaming as if it all shall never end. how weird are we humans we always wish to fly to find a new nest but always try to make it as much similar as our last ones. 

Ever travel by bus in the evening and just look outside, the orange hew somehow seems more beautiful today you might fell that the turn to our room seems more shorter and the journey suddenly has too much to remember. Observe, we engage its simple but too simple that we forget it till it's not time to leave.  


stranger you might think that the train of these blogs are abrupt but pardon me for my thoughts are not like a train they are like bubbles, they originate within some deep coroner of my hear and burst giving space to a new one. but I hope you get it, because I believe you also think like that.


so, enjoy you day you never know when the last time might be that you live something, have no regrets. you are not here to make anyone happy, but you should never make anyone sad. 


yours 

stranger 

putting in a song for you to listen. 

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=edMTPX_PohY&si=SAkWH4Zt_Jx5COIE


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ulcers

By -
Image
"Damn, son, your endoscopy looks like you're either a fifty-year-old investment banker or a chain-smoker — but your file says you're only twenty-two." Those were the words I heard as I woke up, with only a faint idea of where I was, the mechanical buzzing and beeping of the heart rate monitor going off around me. How did I end up in the hospital? The last thing I remember is writing something late at night, and then suddenly there was a strong abdominal pain that gripped me — and after that, all I remember is curling up and screaming as if my insides were about to burst. "Look, son, whatever you're into, these things aren't good at your age," said the doctor, looking over my endoscopy report. I was told I had a peptic ulcer in my stomach, and some ulcers in my mouth. The mouth ones I know — I've been dealing with them for a fairly long time — but the stomach one, well, that was something new. So, like any curious person, I opened up Google and ty...
Read more

Anybody can write boring sex.

By -
Image
I believe it's easy to write boring sex—that which is mechanical, objectified, full of faked voices, lacking gentle touch or rough kisses, and ending in a one-sided climax.  Both turn over and never meet eyes again for the rest of the time. How distasteful and unpassionate it sounds; nevertheless, it is uglier in the act. Sex is one of the most intimate and passionate arts of human physical experience. It needs to be enjoyed boldly and fully, not in a sober manner—it should be like being drunk on the heavenly nectar of a trance.  Each touch has to delicately explore the curves and rises like attempting an archaeological discovery.  Each kiss should leave the lips throbbing like a heart on a cardio machine.  Each moan needs to wake the devil from its sleep and ask in awe, "Where the hell is this coming from?" Nipples sensitized and baptized with a tongue tip.  The bones and curves of the waist kissed so softly that the diaphragm pulls up.  The th...
Read more

Night's tale

By -
Image
Club-bar midnight, three drinks upright, world swirls like a jet flight. Hands on the thighs and kisses on the neck, sweat on the palms and lips on the neck. Post-midnight, in the corner, still kissing, but somewhat somber. On the table-top, hands on the waist— drinks spill, oh, what a waste! Lips moving towards the lips, locks in and pulls it all in, tongues searching to reconnect, but dissect feels more passionate. Lifting up and locking eyes as they met, both knowing where this will end. In the morning, in the bedroom, waking up, pulling her close. The night has been a wild ride, with animals howling, running wild on the loose. Moonlight dancing on the sheet, making shadows as bodies meet. The night has to end, the stars retreat. The messy room and sweat on the sheets all tell the tale of last night.
Read more