Few more lines written in journal this evening. Now, time to take a break, smoke a cigarette, listen to piano music in the dissecting silence of this cold night. I wish I wore lesser and felt freer. Of course the act won’t set me free, but better to feel that feeling before I am dead and gone. A book shall be out by December end or January coming year – a book of prose. For unknown reasons, I keep coming back to all this writing business like it does matter to me. I do not know if it matters to me. I might be just another hypocrite. Whatever the case be, I have been writing without a break since two months. It’s surprising how I can bend the language in my way and churn out one sentence after another even after all this time. Grateful for it.
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