Finding Me in Myself

On the days when I want everything to be perfect, I would not wear a shirt if it had even a single crease on it. I want the wind to be crisp enough to ruffle my hair, but not drop a strand on my eyes. It breaks the flow. The flow of perfection. I want it to rain, but the drops must fall straight upon my umbrella, and not skewed by the wind. Not a drop should wet my shirt, or my skin.

And then there are days when I gaze outside my window, at the road baked by the yawning afternoon sun, till I amble to that truck at the other side of the road. I graze my fingers over the grey layer of dust on its fuel tank, and I wonder why is it that I am obsessed with one question- How does dust smell? I know the answer, yet, I want to smell the earthen muck on its wheel. I want to puncture the fuel tank, and let diesel drip all over my body, like perfect rainfall. I drench myself, and bring home with me, a lasting smell of engine oil and dry soot.

I don’t know what it is with me. Something I detest now, may turn into an obsession even before the passage of another second. I am not who I was a moment earlier, or who I will be in the next. And all I can do to be myself, is write it out.


Artwork by unknown


6 thoughts on “Finding Me in Myself

  1. Absolutely wonderful, but for this post I love the picture more than the writing. Found the same a few months back on berlin art parasites and have tried all but in vain to reproduce the same. There is something hauntingly beautiful and broken about the picture..


  2. I loved the last line… we actually don’t know who we were a moment earlier or who we will be a moment after…this single trait differentiate us from other animals..we have a myriad of wishes, feelings and emotions… we just don’t know which one will take the lead at which moment…

    Liked by 1 person

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