Many things

Did you know Blogger does not let you use Italics in the title of a post?

That's stupid. Italics are awesome. So are indentations. And punctuation! [See strange old poem stemming from my love for punctuation here]

But what will I do without

indentations,

punctuation

and italics!

I'm such a paragraph-slut! ^_^

--

 

This too, a love story

She works as a waitress in

that sketchy roof-top restaurant we always thought to be a dance bar.

She visits her grandma and works out crosswords every Friday.

She always wears her hair tied down,

been saving since she was fourteen to go to Paris.

One day, she would say with smiling eyes.

Wants three kids, the oldest being a boy;

she jots down names for them in her little notebook.

He lives in her building, grunts when she looks away.

He chops flesh at a butcher shop every day –

and hangs around outside a different bar every night.

He tucks his unkempt hair behind his collar and

chops it off with a knife every Summer.

The scar on his nape would then be visible.

A while back, he went to jail for stabbing a friend

and today, he says he'd do it again.

--

It's been a while since I shared anything I've written, barring the previous post and the poem above. There is no lack of inspiration (not with all the drama in my life!), no lack of time, no writer's block. It's just been a busy few months and all I really want to do now is keep it this way. May be get busier. I've felt no need for a break through all this though. I've wanted to be at a lot of places and change a lot of things to have them go my way almost everyday, but there have been no 'I need to get out of here's or 'I need a vacation's. Not till I get somewhere with something that pleases me. I'm also feeling slightly anti-social these days. I don't know whether it is the lack of...er...well, society. Or may be it's just a slump. Apparently, I've found new ways to mope around. When at least one aspect of my life starts going the way I would like it to, I will be social again. I will feel like it then.

But I always want a plan, something to look forward to. If there is nothing, I make something up and be falsely excited about it anyway. Like trying to blog more often for the 4 readers I have because I think they like what I write, for instance. I made a lot of plans today, most of which will fail. But it made me happy. 

But, I deviate. I was doing this explainingtoselfandthosewhocare thing: I've been writing. But I've been on an intentional hiatus from sharing what I write with anyone. It all started with laziness and a moody internet connection. But eventually, I found smarter-sounding reasons to give people. Firstly, why must I write itself? Why can't I just feel and not put it down on paper? Why must I string together a bunch of words in an attempt to find meaning in my thoughts and feelings? And secondly, why must I share what I write with people who will probably only just read it and not feel what I felt? Seemed solid and adamant enough for people (including the self) to stop questioning me / bothering with me.

And then, weeks later, it struck me during one of my many rickshaw-journeys. 

I write because I love to. I love writing things, stowing them away, tearing them up, re-reading them, editing them, twaeking them and doing all sorts of abusive things to them! 

I share because I have 4 readers. 

And my 4 readers read what I share and react, because they want to. 

No other reasons; none required.

EDIT >> Oh and nobody ever says "er"! Atleast not in the context it's usually written. 

Oh well.