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The Artist

He said she would have to be an artist. Amidst other things on the list, something about Asian hair, height and weight specs, etc. He had her stuck on the art. In retrospect, he was too, she thought. A quaint piece of art that would fit seamlessly in the hands of a painter.

Happily ever after?


…have patience with everything unresolved in your heart, and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms, or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers which could not be given to you now,


There’s something about funerals. How funereal and sombre they are, the end of a life (not) lived, the beginning of the reality of one’s life, and for the loved ones whose times they still await, it’s a period of perpetual disillusionment before they find there sanity again.

Finding home

Him: I was an alcoholic for ten years. For ten years, i drenched my liver in alcohol.

Me: But why?

Him: I sought answers my dear, answers.

Me: In alcohol?

Him: Alcohol numbed the brains that tormented me with questions i was losing my life searching for answers to.