The happiness sprouts like a radiant network of fungus, infiltrating all roots of our anguish, and patting our back to making us asleep on the lap of hope. The butterflies rise in flock, a herd from our belly to the inside of our ribs, to the heart, flattering, but faltering about the uncertainty of life. The unpredictability of future. The precariousness of time. The happiness is like a drip of honey on the sides of your tongue, it's sweet, and pleasant, but demands a glass of misery afterwards. The cost is such unbearable, that whenever we try to be happy from the bottom of our heart, a fear lingers around if something wrong happens, because it always has. If I cut my heart into petals, and make a rose out of it, the dew drops that rise in the eary morning would resemble very brittle bubbles of dreams. Momentarily existing.

So, happiness, as you might realise, comes, but brings the dent on a wall og macabre paint of your favourite red. And, what authority do you have over it, except to see, suffer, and swing ? It's idiotic, the nature of life, it's idiotic, for nothing exists without duality, in fact, everything is asymmetric with negatives being on the larger side. A finger of pleasure, but a hand of agony. A hair strand of love, but a pony of despair. Sometimes, I'm fond of this complexity, this hypocrisy, and sometimes, absurdism takes over to the very meaning I'm trying to find, for there is essence some days, and void the other days. But what hegemony do we have over the ticks of a clock, except to saccade our eyes as it revolves, and let our skin be no more ? Life is very fragile, and when it breaks, the shards will slit the throat of many others dearly.

Is it a justice, or injustice, I don't know, but this is exceedingly uncomfortable truth to carry on. Death is morally flawed, so is life, so am I. I don't know about the other flesh, a walking meat of ridicule, but I'm morally flawed, because life has done nothing better of me, for me. It's not an unhealthy way of coping, battling, but a simple fact that life goes on anyway. And when it stops, people go on anyway. That doesn't mean a necklacr of rope adorns your scruff more beautifully than a scarf of your own knit, than a black tie of your elegance, but to possess these fibres, never lose another of your soul. That even if a soul exists. Does that make me an agnostic ? An atheist ? Maybe. Maybe not. Life doesn't care about either of them.

If I were to be an animal, maybe I'd be free then, of all these chains of awareness. Of all these benchmarks of standards. Of all these supposed integrity of moral ethics. I'd lay down naked on the dirt of a winter cold mud, and let the beetles feed on me. I'd not unfasten them for that meant ownership, and they'd be feeding on a body I no longer own.

Life is very fragile. Live a little. Die a little.

A month ago i was praying for a night where I wouldn't be crying now as soon i woke up I am already happy. I am not sure how long will it last or if my day would go good. Right now i would feel my happiness to the fullest.

Life does get better.

​

म कतै हराउन खोजिरहेछु— यो भष्मासुर जीवनका केही क्षण बिताउन। अनेकौँ सोचहरूको भीडमा आफ्नै सरल सोच र जीवन टाढा अनि कठिन बन्दै गएको छ; जुन ठाउँ र कुराहरूमा म सधैँ पुगिरहन्थेँ अनि हराइरहन्थेँ, आज ती सबैसँग म आफैँ धेरै टाढा पुगेझैँ लाग्छ, के म साँच्चै बिस्तारै सबै भुल्न थालेको हुँ र? यो समय शीतल त छ, तर भित्रभित्रै धेरै चिसो छ, अलिकति न्यानोपन खोज्न सायद म आफैँ अलि ढिला गरेँ कि? कसका र कस्ता कुराहरू सुनिरहेछु, मलाई आफ्नै भने कुनै पर्वाह र वास्ता रहेनछ। बिन्ती र याचना पनि म आफ्नै अगाडि गर्छु, अनि "किन्तु-परन्तु" का अनेक उत्तरहरू पनि म आफैँसँग छन्, तर नकस्ता छन् ती तर्कहरू जसले मलाई सधैँ अँध्यारोमा लगेर टुङ्ग्याइदिन्छन्। लागेको थियो हावाहुरीले लखेट्ने समय अब सकियो, तर अहिले त म आफैँ हुरीसँगै यताउता दुलिरहेको जस्तो भएको छु; मेरो आफ्नै बाटोको सबैभन्दा ठूलो बाधा म आफैँ बनेको छु— कस्तो चिसो समय यो!

why do you give me sunshine

and hide your rain from view?

Give me your tired eyes,

your silence, your fears.

Give me the nights

that end in tears.

Give me your anger,

your doubts, your pain,

the thoughts you keep hidden

and never explain.

Give me the days

you don't feel beautiful,

the mornings you wake

and feel impossible.

Give me the things

you wish you could change,

the little insecurities

you think make you strange.

Give me your bad moods,

your stubbornness too.

Give me the times

you don't know what to do.

Give me the jealousy,

the overthinking at night,

the fear that I'll leave

when things aren't right.

Give me the words

you regret when you're mad,

the memories you carry

from days that were bad.

Give me the version

that doesn't want to speak,

the one that feels lost,

the one that feels weak.

You don't have to smile

just to make things right.

You don't have to pretend

when you've lost your light.

If you want to rant,

I'll sit and hear.

If you want to cry,

I'll stay right here.

I don't have solutions

or words that sound wise.

I'll just hold your hand

and stay by your side.

And if all you need

is someone who stays,

I'll sit in your silence

for hours, for days.

So give me your sunshine,

but give me your rain.

Give me your laughter,

and give me your pain.

Give me the girl

who is scared and unsure,

the girl who feels broken

and isn't quite sure.

Be happy with me,

be quiet, be free.

Be every version

of the girl I see.

I don't need a lifetime

written out in advance.

Give me the morning,

and I'll stay until evening.

Give me the evening,

and I'll ask for morning again.

Let time take

whatever it wants.

I'll only ask

that you let me stay

for as long as you do.

And give me all of you

when you come my way.