Bad luck; of course.


Write about me, sometimes.


“I don’t think I have known you long enough to love you, but then I don’t understand love. I am crying now, but mostly sobbing, so that I don’t catch anyone’s attention, for I would like to continue crying. Crying isn’t so bad either.”

The number of people I have dated for the first time in my life is absurd, almost laughable, to be very honest. The last one was, of course, Andrew, whom I had finally started dating after almost 3 years of crushing over him, but of course, my father who is the deputy chief of the police is transferred somewhere far away, and I had to move with him. Of course.

We have moved at least 3-4 times over the past 7 years, which increased especially after my mother’s death since my father knows that I love him just a little too much. At this point, it’s almost a game. Though, this time he did ask me, if I wanted to stay back, maybe in a rented flat, but I refused, which I guess is fine. Father is old now, and I love him, but maybe a little too much.

I have already packed most of my clothes and other belongings, I have also secretly packed the letters a few very close friends wrote, these letters define me.

“Will you write me down in your prettiest paper with your typewriter? Write me down in a story, that you love, and I promise I’ll fall in love with it too.”

I smile and giggle as I read the story one more time.I have found myself reading letters/ emails/ personal stories more than ever.

Very appropriately, the season is fall, the month of October. I remember, very vividly, last October. I fell in love with a Guitarist who was obsessed with just one tune, that he refused to play for his audience, it was only when we were dating that he played it, and realized that it was never meant for me. We broke up soon after.


The current neighborhood, where I live, is rather calm, something which I have fallen in love over the past one and a half years.

The third person, on my list of people I have dated, at least over 1 month, was Mathew, with the stupidest beanie I have ever seen. He also had this weird obsession with carrying his giant backpack, Why, though?

This doesn’t really matter, now,  does it? I’m moving out again, and I know I’ll be off to somewhere else after that too. I love my friends nevertheless, always have, but maybe moving away has made me careless. I find myself walking by the shoreline alone now, but I am not alone. Sometimes I think, my mother died too young, too fast, but then maybe death is easier.

I have never quite loved any of these people, except my father. Neither do I mind moving out, it’s just that…………………………

I continue to love people whom I once loved, even when I try and avoid them at every street we meet. I have become painfully naive, and know no difference between the things I like and the ones I dislike. Am I passionate about both, yes.But truth be told, I don’t know who I am, maybe just a fragmented puzzle. Maybe.




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