  a catch of a tune, a face cut, a perfume.. vagabond instances that have no right to walk into your ken, into my ken.
they open doors to memories i don't even know are there. more and more everyday, the little girl in me longs for that intimate balance i shared with him. there were hardly any complications.. the ones that were there, were there because of the grown up in me, comparing him ruthlessly with ppl whom i knew he didn't stand a chance to.
a glaring gap of thinking between him n me.. but it's only grown ups who think. small children don't. innocence doesn't think. simplicity doesn't think. primitive sensations do not think. people now call me a person of the mind. i think too much. split hair. dissected thoughts. sometimes its sad to see my thoughts wander, and watch myself track them back one by one to the source that triggered them.
i canconvince myself to love anyone. i can convince myself to do anything. i can't convince myself to stop disliking myself - luckily in this regard alone. regardless of how little importance the grown up is given, it sits in the back of my head, passing comments on everything i say or do. the child then remains embarassed for weeks over playful comments. writing is painful. it's been a long break. 
