The cupboard under the stairs has this dank, humid, earthy smell that gets me salivating. Now, generally it's mildew and dust mites feeding on detritus that are the culprits behind the aroma but it is earthy and I can't help it! The triangular little corner is a depository and my discovery of the century happens to be the stored rice. And when we first learned about olfaction we were told about its working in complete peace with the Gastrointestinal tract which renders me stuffing a fist full of uncooked rice fused with pheromonal odor of the parasites. Yes, I have been having dreams of choking on a crushed particle of a grain of rice and dying. Don't tell my mom. Then I was hit by the thought of all these people around me lamenting over my deadness for a day or two and before you know it they would have to think real hard in order to recall something about me.
As wild and precocious at the same time the shadow that often stalks me turns out to be, if you look closely flaws will unravel themselves in an unending cascade. But the fact that one needs to run anyway is the charm about life. Run with their flawing entity. Run after something or lead the chase. And then there is the cruise of liberty and often at it I would find myself pulling on the reins around the turns and that will definitely account for being the more difficult thing to do; rightfully so because that ensures control and control is a perplexing choice of actions.
You know redemption is the sole key to alleviate myself of the self pitying necrosis my infarcted being is turning out to be for no apparent reason in this particular phase of life. Speaking of redemption, I don't mean returning back as a person to a certain point in the past but redeeming the position that my presence was once entitled, perhaps violating it and ascending higher this time. This phase of life. The one of constraint, the one of not being sure, the one of trying to find myself, the one of trying to work my surrounding, the one of turns and dead ends, the one of fearlessness, yet the one of fearing myself, the one of building, the one of finally putting the brain to practical quests, the one of a fundamental kind, the one that is distinguished. Now, let's blame the pacing cars over the highway or the black cat that has suddenly found our porch to be a comfy dwelling to spend life.
No Sana, don't lose it.
Quit with the clutter jaan.
Shhhhh!
Come on!
Go easy.
Shabash.
It's okay.
Good girl.
The End.
As wild and precocious at the same time the shadow that often stalks me turns out to be, if you look closely flaws will unravel themselves in an unending cascade. But the fact that one needs to run anyway is the charm about life. Run with their flawing entity. Run after something or lead the chase. And then there is the cruise of liberty and often at it I would find myself pulling on the reins around the turns and that will definitely account for being the more difficult thing to do; rightfully so because that ensures control and control is a perplexing choice of actions.
You know redemption is the sole key to alleviate myself of the self pitying necrosis my infarcted being is turning out to be for no apparent reason in this particular phase of life. Speaking of redemption, I don't mean returning back as a person to a certain point in the past but redeeming the position that my presence was once entitled, perhaps violating it and ascending higher this time. This phase of life. The one of constraint, the one of not being sure, the one of trying to find myself, the one of trying to work my surrounding, the one of turns and dead ends, the one of fearlessness, yet the one of fearing myself, the one of building, the one of finally putting the brain to practical quests, the one of a fundamental kind, the one that is distinguished. Now, let's blame the pacing cars over the highway or the black cat that has suddenly found our porch to be a comfy dwelling to spend life.
No Sana, don't lose it.
Quit with the clutter jaan.
Shhhhh!
Come on!
Go easy.
Shabash.
It's okay.
Good girl.
The End.
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