i remember your hands and their warmthlike i rememberthe versions of methat were easier to live with (or so i think).the colors, their unnatural brightness,the scent of acetone always lingeringon the tips of your fingertips,always hiding a sad rainbow (just my type).always a star that you forgot to rub and break,shined on your skin.under myContinue reading ““the constant part of love” – Nayana Nair”
here.the buildings and their makeshift purpose,the liquid tar evaporating and raining down,the birds that resurrect only for a day,the menu written, re-writtenwith tastes i find strange,the ceremonies of 3 meals and 1000 snacksand casual friends,the wishlist, the moodboardsthat I have no heart in.herethis all there is.hereeverything is overwhelmingand still not enough.
My memories of deprivation,of yearningare placed in, are shot with the background of aesthetic picturesque urban structures,with the clear skies that only peace or money can paint. *** How sadthat I feel the need to break down in grander messed up place and time-to make this loss real,to make myself real,to shed this one tearthatContinue reading ““Inviting the Gray Life” – Nayana Nair”
There was a melancholy in looking up at the endless vacant sky and looking for the invisible presence of someone to depend on. To wear these ideas that were guaranteed to sort my life and mind. Except it felt like clothes borrowed. I had to either return them or throw them away.
I am sipping my 27th cup of coffee waiting for the shop to get crowded, so people will not eye me with suspicion or pity. So I can be in company of people who have nowhere to go, like me. For whom, home is just a place you run away from. I wait for theContinue reading ““Coffee Shop” – Nayana Nair”