I'm growing everyday. Painfully sometimes.But I'm growing. I deny it sometimes. The denial of a saint? Maybe. Not really.Denial that's weak, strangely entangled in the cobwebs ever surrounding, ever confusing, ever conflicting. But I m here, still standing, still frozen in time, still making my heart work, overtime.
I'm home after 8 months. Nothing has changed. Nothing except additions to the showpieces, a few more framed baby photographs of me, the signs of an untouched room that used to be mine, the remote control buttons a little more worn out holding evidence of lone hours my mum spends with the television day after empty day, sons and daughters are running miles away, takes courage to stay behind I think; But yes, She still loves me as much. She still breathes the indoor comfort air of her house, she still welcomes with the love that melts stone. And I feel gratitude. Feel a little overwhelmed. Feel a little over-fed, as always. Yes, nothing much has changed.

Lives get separated in seconds. Entire lives lived and lost.

All that we fought for.

There is not much my dad says to me. Checks on my health, checks on my eyes if they look tired, my posture, dislikes my long hair, not really, just dislikes. Exactly like I'd want him to. Dad still takes beautiful photographs. I can see through, maybe he passed it on to me, maybe I'm going to complete his sight. Maybe i ll discover all the places and people he couldn't. Maybe I ll be an extension of his youth, his lifetime, his faith, his age. After all that , maybe ill have courage to be all the things that he wants me to be.

What is becoming of me. How many lives am I to balance? Where is my story? My Identity? On my toes. Delighted and expecting. On my knees. Frightened and dis-believing. I still like being like this. I had forgotten. I was forgotten. Racing around in circles, to be all the different people a single day can demand of me, to satisfy and make everything as perfect as possible. Make ends meet? Finally understood I think. Its a collection of endings. And a perfect day, if it exists, would have a good ending. Something beautiful and an endless epilogue.

"Can anybody fly this thing?

Before my head explodes

Or my head starts to ring"

A perfect day is impossible,
Simpler, lesser, mortal things could still be perfect,
A song could still be perfect.A stranger could still be perfect.A home could still be perfect.
Friends and fortune in Gokarna could still be perfect.

"Confidence in you

Is confidence in me

Is confidence in high speed"