notes to myself 15

the future and the past merge, seamlessly. 
I am sad and I am hopeful, at the same time.


I am also drunk.




It is a strange feeling, to experience the moment, where the thoughts of the long gone past encounters the hopes for the future within seconds of each other.
We live in hope. We live in the past. We live with our misgivings, and ourselves.
We live with the scents that we produce, with the stink in our feet and our underarms.
We live in our clothes that we put for wash the next day, or sometime soon.
We live within ourselves, our thoughts and hopes merging, into one simple amalgamation.
A+B.


We live, cheating ourselves, selling out on beliefs, selling out on our little principles which we form during brief moments of heightened sobriety.


We are who we are, without rules, without our guiding lights, in darkness, in our hearts.


We put them out to dry, our hearts,
hoping that someone would notice how well fleshed out they are.


We put them out on the line, "manjaa" laden strings, which carry them as far as we would let them,
defensive, yet optimistic, that some new kite would want to play, a "deal", with this new, yet unknown free bird.


We hope that our past isn't too obvious, isn't too noticeable, isn't how we are judged.


We hope that someone would be up for it.


We live in hope, and die in regret.