gargoyles

I know what it is, It’s the same world. The man standing in line to pay his bills, fighting to get in or fighting to get his phone re connected.
More men sitting on the couch, waiting for the man at the counter to call out their token number.
My token number is 93. White in colour.
Yellow and white light is streaming from upstairs, men in red t-shirts all around, ready to serve.

Sim change? problem in your bill sir? What’s token number?
The server has STOPPED WORKING, sir. PLEASE COME AGAIN LATER.
No, the customer says, take my FORM now, I’m an important fat man in a suit, you don’t make me wait!
His daughter tries dissuading him and tries to calm him down. Trying.
But he’s on an ego roll today.

I wasn’t this. This was not my kind of place and people. I was sure it wasn’t. I am sure it isn’t.
I love the smell of the locality I live in. Locality, such a cold word for the place where my parents reside, where I stayed for over a year.
Stayed.

The house that still doesn’t figure in my dreams as home.

I love the smell of the locality I live in
Sweet and heady from the old times, old times that I have neither seen nor felt.

but inside the room, the same voices speak different things
in the same language, the same things; echoing the same old gargoyles that I ran away from.

maybe, one day I myself will create the perfect
gargoyle

The dog barked at me today. With happiness sprayed across his face.
Mesmerized just by the thought that she may know me and I may give her some love,
share it with both of us.
When I had  met her for the first time, I always knew I was going to leave so I never got too close.
Our souls do need some love, and then a little more.
Maybe it is unbecoming of me to speak so freely, instead of using metaphors at my disposal to describe the condition of my heart.
Or my brain, whatever sounds poetic!

I love how I feel right now. I dislike the ropes that pull me so slightly and then a bit harder as they warn me of what happened the last time I gave all my love.
Without any pretence or inhibition, not incomplete, all of my goodness, all my bright eyes and knowing, my mind dancing to a song I wrote each day. Smiling toward and inwards. What happened last time, Annie?
was last time the last time. Now is another new story, try not to leash yourselves to your fears.

Nobody owes or owns me, but I shall own my happiness

maybe

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