I kept my fists tightly clenched for about two hours continuously. Was it out of nervousness? Do I still feel nervous? When I opened them, I felt a twinge, I looked at them and there were crescent marks left over my palms by my nails. But the pain was more to soul, lesser to body. If my heart broke thousand of times, and dreams turned gray, and if my life didn’t move a step since some old night, and if I say that the space between the times I’ve managed to forget and the times I’ve managed not to forget haunts me like millions of reptiles crawling inside my stomach and, if I say that even loads of kohl doesn’t suffice to help me hide the insomnia of my eyes these days, would it bring even the slightest change in life?

———————-

Can I ask my days why they are so different from how my nights are or can I ask my nights why’re they so damn killing and shattering?

Answer me, please/