i am sad.
and for once in my life, i will talk about it.
not to you, to you or to you.
nor to the atmosphere which exerts some pressure on the page where an aneroid barometer has been drawn by a friend who has been kind enough to do my geography practical drawings for me.
not to the friend either.
not to my guitar which is prolly feeling as suffocated as my vocal chord does now.
not to blogsphere, the people here, not to anyone in the entire universe, save one.
not to the moon,no.
i wont pretend that its not listening, though.
to every thing i ever do speak out.
and to everything i never talk about.
so why the pretence?its listening.
just like you are reading on.without having the slightest clue about why you are wasting your otherwise perfectly wasteable time doing this.reading the uselessrant of a lost kid.
just like the atmosphere is cautiously exerting just enough pressure on my dungballforahead to keep it from falling apart due to lack binding strength [this is neither a physics textbook nor a biology guidebook so just .]
just like the drawing of the aneroid barometer on that page don't fucking care how beautifully perfect it looks, its just waiting for its carbon form to fade away.
with time and with ruffling of those papers over and over and over again.
just fade away..
just like i don't understand why i mustn't feel like i do just because there's this risk of being "just like those people".
i like some things which also seem to interest those people who are like them.
i might just pick those up and treat them like the most amazingly beautiful purple tulips in the universe,and fix them with superglue on the walls of my heart.
just like i don't understand why i cannot cry when i feel the tears choking my head.
all those things are as real as all these.
and all these and all those are the same things anyway.
so i decide to talk about them.
not to you though.
not to anyone or anything in the entire universe, but myself.
and that is going to be done the moment i find my self.
p.s:this is not a promise.