Cold floors.

Don’t intimidate me with your meanings and definitions and opinions; I have none now, and your harsh truth only brings forth sorrow that lasts a few minutes. If only I had your wisdom, I might even have cared for the life I lead right now. This vague trumpet of air; I could pack just one suitcase and leave. No one would ask beyond the usual and I won’t be hesitant about not packing any food. Small things like that will come and go and flutter past every single road we pass by. Smaller things like money may cross our minds and on some nights form an encompassing blanket; insulate us from the cold air. I say us, because I know you think, but never write. I lack control over my tongue now, even more so over temptation. Sentences come out without much ponder or saliva. On sober nights like these I think of me and how nothing holds meaning or joy anymore, other than sitting on a clean footpath, the warmth of the coffee cup spreading to the back of my palms, remembering the chaos that may have been the previous night.

Tell me that you still remember a word called ambition. I can’t find my dictionary.

Hopefully this will be the end to a really long writer's block. Not that I called myself a writer, just a term of reference.

In high school I had a really good friend, not the best, but somehow close-minded. At the end-of-school farewell, we only glanced at each other once or twice. Didn't talk much. Then we went to junior college together for a month before he shifted to a different one across the city. I met him only once after that, at a coffee shop on his request. As he drank his cool blue, I spoke about things in school. And then we left. Just like that. No hugs, no exchange of email-ids, not a single smile. Ofcourse, I knew I'd miss him but it was as though that was it, for us. A hasty-no-regret-goodbye.

See, what I'm trying to say here is, I'm ending the blog here much like how I ended it with him. Crass goodbyes are my thing bro.