Walked past a cat run over by a car and realised
What's more sad than seeing something dead
Is seeing something dying
And while each day most of us live
Others die trying

A habit can be made out of anything, don't you think? Tara walks this part of the park in circles and soon these circles are a part of her. Since she sees the same things over and over she finds too many faults but makes too few stops to change things because she doesn't want to spoil her pace.  Plus breaks don't look good on anyone, she's told.  You need to walk with powerful strides that reek of intent.  Sometimes when she does that people stop and stare in awe. Most of these times she does it just for the reaction. In truth, she'd rather be like the child who runs around plucking flowers and chasing butterflies but then everyone would think she's bonkers. 
  
All this while Tara does keep thinking and thinking however. Thinking of how she got here. Thinking of what she might find if she breaks out of here. Once in a while a thought trips her and she falls down.  But then gets back up to complete her circle because everyone's looking. And she always feels like everyone's looking. 

On Writing

The longer in the day I wait to write, the dirtier my paper gets. Thoughts seem to pour from everywhere as soon as I'm up and threaten to spill out. I can be my most unbridled early in the morning, with fresh thoughts pouring out of me like a magical fountain. There are colors too, though you'll only be able to see them in the nighttime, when you're exhausted from your day.

I find coherence as I write. I allow myself to spit out the senseless first and try not to judge myself as I go. (All of us need to learn to not be too hard on ourselves) Later on, when I run my eyes over what I had previously written, the meek voice inside of me swells up, now suddenly awake upon running into a treasure or two. That's how I find my voice for the the day. 

The stuff that transpires between two people, keeping social beliefs and perceptions locked away safely in a box, is the only real kind of communication there is.

But no one teaches their child to trust more.

That's why you and I  have grown up with feelings riddled with doubts.

Which is also why you and I need to try harder to love without conditions.

Hello there, person from Mountain View, California! I have been speaking to the walls of this blog for the past year (I don't expect too many people to be interested in it anyway) but you're one of those kind few who always reads my writing soon after I publish it.

I just want to say hi, thank you and that this means a lot to me. :)

It's a mistake to think that it is not possible for them to touch another the way they touch you. The curves and crevices of your body might be yours and yours alone but sometimes they only need close their eyes to feel another the same way they felt you. 

But take heart, for there are those who, even knowing this, choose not to.

Somewhere, caught between
Changing trains
And pressed between
Sweaty, eager men
And watching the woman in front of me
Buffing her nails
In great meditation,
I close my eyes
And think of penning a poem
That would free me of you