bone crush

I am past the cravings for crunch, meat, and spice. Now, I want something soft, sweet, and gentle. I want the world's kindness to wrap around me like a warm blanket. I feel like a lost child, hoping to be found. I long to be swept up into someone's arms, someone who feels safe. In this moment, the world is good, and the thought of anything bad doesn’t cross my mind. I imagine a soft scarf wrapped around me, my knees pulled close. I want to be brought back to what I know, into arms that hold me tight, but not too tight—just enough to make sure I know I’m safe and loved. I want to be held like I’m precious, like they’ve found me after I’ve been lost for too long. I used to hate getting lost in big places like malls, but now, I long for that feeling of being found again. I crave the relief and joy in someone’s eyes when they see me and know I’m back where I belong. Softened eyes, shoulders falling, a relaxed smile, a soft crinkle and a few wrinkles. All at the mere existence. 

The cheese I bought isn't cheesing the way I thought it would. I still eat it, feeling disappointment with each bite. The extremely spicy noodles and the cheese that was supposed to wrap around them, giving me the relief I needed, don't quite hit the mark. A forkful of it all goes into my mouth, but nothing tastes as I wanted it to. This is a craving that hasn't been satisfied. But I am full, and that's enough for tonight. I don't know what to wear tomorrow. Sadly, I have no clue how to wear a saree, and the rest of my traditional wear is in the wash. If I show up in my black jean jacket, I'm sure I'll be due for a public execution. I must learn someday. Traditional wear is convenient, and everyone is suddenly satisfied without constant questions about why I wear what I wear. I'll watch a movie tonight. The fifth night is the direct translation of it. I wonder what it's going to be like. I try not to look at the description, but I saw a comment sayin

He wouldn't know anything of a weight that you don't carry on your shoulders, of one that crushes you from within. Does it cave into his bones as it does mine? We never chose this. Who would? I was born one way; who says I must stay that way? I was born 5 pounds and a kilo of expectations. Why must I shed something to become myself? When was this placed on me? When I took a breath as myself, it crushed my ribs. I didn’t know the pain was so sharp. They say forgiveness flows like a river, but mine runs dry. Each flower I tried to grow dies. I used to long for a self I could love. I wish I could feel air in my lungs. I try. It’s suffocating. What crushes me isn’t close to me; it kills me from within. When was the seed of death planted in me? Why do I yearn for a sense of purpose this much? Why does my fight not die out? It would be much easier if it did. Why do my bones take more to break? Endure, endure, endure. Feel it through and through. It’s almost as if I can endure enough

Writing without feeling is easy, but it doesn’t feel right. I do it sometimes, but most of the time, I hate it. When the emotion isn’t there, the words fall flat, like they’re just there to fill space. I need to be connected to what I’m writing, to feel it deeply. Otherwise, it just doesn’t work for me. But right now, what I’m writing feels like it’s just for the sake of getting something down on paper. It’s hard to care when I’m not truly invested.  Writing should be about expressing what’s inside, but when I’m doing it just to do it, that feeling gets lost. The words come out, but they don’t mean anything to me. It feels like I’m just going through the motions, and that makes it frustrating. I want to write something that matters, something that I can feel in my bones. But when I’m detached, it’s just not the same. It’s like I’m pretending, putting on a front, and that’s what bothers me the most—writing without really saying anything that matters, without feeling the weight of the wo

I backed out. I said it. I did it. After everything that was said and done, I said no. I don’t really know how I feel about it. It went smoothly, but the thoughts of what it might bring, or what it might not, make me tense. Sometimes, it feels like I can’t fully express what I’m feeling. It’s like someone else is trying to dictate how I talk, move, and feel. Why can’t I just be confused? Is it wrong to be indecisive for a moment? I don’t know. It’s almost as if I can’t make my own choices, like I’m not trusted enough to handle them. The residual anger that follows is so frustrating. I don’t know what I did to make them feel this upset. The glares, the stares—I feel it all too well. As much as I pretend to be unbothered, I feel everything. And maybe it’s a good thing because some people are cruel to the core. The more I think about it, the more I realize how deeply it all cuts, even if I try to act like it doesn’t. I guess that’s just how it is—feeling everything but pretending not to.

The aftermath is tricky. There's something in the air, a feeling I'm just beginning to grasp. I feel a little joy in my heart, just a small bit, but it's there. I'm letting myself breathe, slowly taking in this moment. I know that by the time I fully feel it, the nothingness will start to creep back in. It's a cycle I've been through many times, one that keeps repeating. Today, I didn't do much. There's still so much left undone, so many tasks waiting for me, but I couldn't bring myself to start them. Yet, I did manage to do one thing, and somehow, that feels like enough for now. It's funny how one small thing can bring a sense of peace, even when there's still so much more to do. I'll hold on to that small feeling of accomplishment, letting it be enough, even if only for a short time. Sometimes, just making it through the day feels like a victory. Even the smallest steps forward matter. And in this moment, that small win is all I need. F