Letter to a friend

Its been ages since I have visited this space and I must say it does feel like coming back home. There are bits here which have now passed and gone into the subconscious which surface for a fresh breath of air , and exist as real as the illusion that we live in just for a brief moment , a moment long enough to bring a smile on my face or a pang in my heart long enough to make me live it, to be grateful.


There are friends who have been left behind almost strangers now , some have been married , some will be in the near future and others that I have lost touch with. Iwonder how they are. I wonder how a new conversation would be , i wonder if there ever will be a conversation , would it be the way it was before , or would there be the hesitation that one has on meeting strangers the lack of common ground. That awkward moment of silence, I wonder.

This is to you that i write dear friend , the company that I crave , the support the informality the comfort, the mischief and the laughterI miss it madly , I might not say it I might not show it but i do miss it , and i guess i always will , I think of you when theres space enough to live , when the present is not cramping you into a mechanical existence , those moments of life is when i think of you and i guess thats what makes it living. Thank you for making my past rich enough to compel my visits .

I read from corners and scripts of past of present , I try to suck in all information that i have of u , unsatiated , i retire to the den to digest the lack of it. And then I live on

I have been good, new friends have come my way but somehow they will never match up , I don't think anything will , the you is you and there always will be a void , which can only be filled by you.

Life's changed quite a bit hasn't it , for me I seem to be going in circles , the wolf does rise again in me , surfaces on drunken nights and lonely moons, I have missed him for a bit , but its difficult living with him too. It scares me at times and its joyful at others to see him indulge in revelry that i permit me not. The guilt is like a bad hangover which now lasts longer that it used to .

I have had weird dreams here , dreams of lunacy , dreams that i wanted to continue and yet wanted to escape. It was so terrifying and yet so clear, for a moment i did want it , i did think it was no different from reality , I spoke something and no one made any sense of it , it was like this great secret that I was telling to the world like the answer to life and the world could not understand me , and i couldn't understand what the world was saying back to me and then i didn't remember what the answer was. Anyways thats a bit watered now I so wish i had written it the morning i had it.

I have performed here too , and that strangely puts the pressure back on me. And i wonder at times whether anonymous mediocrity would be a better choice then performance related expectations and adoration. They build me up without asking my permission , or taking my consent and then they will burn me one day because i will differ from what they are building, a constant fear i live in failure.

And as usual to remain in style an abrupt end- Good night for now as its getting late and theres class tomorrow, by the way did i tell you its weird being a student when you are almost thirty.

So i sleep tonight and maybe I will dream some more to write again