Young-ed I

I feel blank. I feel nauseous. I feel suffocated, I feel tied down. I don’t believe in myself enough. Most times, I don’t feel strong enough – I’m giddy, I’m needy. I harbor very few yet extravagant dreams.My Dreams are like pastry, I want to eat and live them wholly ,all at once. Just like how I want to not turn the page of the book;  I want to read the whole book in one go. I need to know more. The crippling desire never dies. This need, so profound, it is always there. I want to believe in life and love and so many different things but some days I get tired, tired enough to not believe. I am bejeweled by the idea of the pastry having a fluffy top a crisp base. I am enchanted but I am not good. I am dwelling yet I am disappointed. I am ordained, I am excited. I want to get moving – I want to keep looking. I don’t want clique, yet I am a whole shell of mainstream. I am crab, I am turtle. I am a window and I am also the pane. I sound nonsensical – yet I will brood of how moody life can be. There is so much filth in the locality; there is so much filth in my mind. I need to cleanse myself, I need to cleanse my soul. There is something so profound in me that feels that it’s okay to overwrite the past mistakes, the past occurrences, the past wishes. A voice that is so strong that its intensity makes me question everything I have known. I am sane yet I am naïve. I question if I should believe that voice. There is no sameness in my everyday being. Everyday I am a new me, everyday I decide to become a new person. The potential is caught, wrought and fought for. But some days, this potential feels like a drought. Not acting fast enough, not moving, not doing – is overwhelming. It is engulfing. It is like not fulfilling so many thoughts.

Thoughts that I don’t plan to make plans of actions. Things savor. Chocolate bitters. I like bitter. I weave, I knead, I dough, I pastry. The rolling pin moves zip, zap, zip. The pastry bakes. I make sure I curl chocolate into its slight, timid rolls. I knead, I batter, I beat – the eggs caramelized, the chocolate steaming and boiling over the pot and pan. There is such magic in the kitchen. That one side things bake, while, the other side fire burns metal of the pan and the wood of my chaff, while I just stand and think.

I am young – ed.

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