White noise.

He didn't even remember how you looked like. What your name was. How you took your coffee. Which side of the bed you liked to sleep on. He didn't remember. He didn't remember your favourite song. Your happy place. He tried hard but he couldn't seem to. Don't blame him, but he didn't remember you.

Your beauty was lost to him. Your words forgotten. He saw you on the crowded street today. You passed each other, in fact. You even turned back and apologized when you brushed shoulders. He didn't recognize your voice. A mutual smile was all your give and take. He thought about you for the next nine seconds and controlled the urge to turn back. Afterall, its not everyday that you bump into pretty strangers.

Don't blame him, really. It was a long time ago that you met. You talked about all the things people usually talk about and that was it. You never kissed. It was nice meeting you, have a good night. He thought about the recently deceased conversation for the length of a cigarette and smiled to himself. That was it.

Wait. Do you remember him?

Fuck you too.

I don't want to be able to think anymore. For some time atleast. Not think about the next sentence. The next note. It has become too tedious a job. I want sleep. 

I don't want to be able to think anymore. I want sleep. Sound dreamless sleep. Deathlike sleep. 

I don't want to be able to think anymore. 

Rough day.

All those moments will be lost in time. Like tears in the rain.

Time to die. 

Bickle fitch.

I had forgotten how much I had missed this. Staying up all night playing guitar till the sky turned from black to that beautiful hue of purple-blue I love so much. Then sitting down and writing a blogpost on impulse. Delaying sleep as much as possible. Misspelling words. Cringing inwardly at that spell check's wavy red underline. I somehow hate the green lines more. They're idiotic sometimes. Its a bad idea to think about grammar at six in the morning.

I guess this is the time when I am supposed to reminisce. Introspect. Be a bit nostalgic and crib about how I can't write in verse. Eh. All I want is a piece of toast. A large piece of toast. With butter on it. Lots of. I want a hot crispy toast with lots of butter on it. And some scotch.

The sky is a lighter shade now. I liked it better before. This time of the day somehow always reminds me of studying. If I would have to make a list of the most important things in my life right now, I would be stumped. Maybe I am too self conscious to admit to myself my priorities, but I cannot write them down. Something has to be wrong with that.

I miss Panjim. If I could, I wouldn't have come back. The fact that I have feels like a defeat.

Maybe I'll settle for breakfast. Or not.

Night.

Shoestring lullaby.