read gaban. 3.5 stars. ahead of it’s time. loved the beginning and that first half but towards the end it started getting repetitive.

sugar?

alec benjamin ki yaad aa gayi

sultan ab ring mein wapas nhi jayega

so, i watched homebound. i want to rip my soul apart and cry for an infinite amount of time.

yes i watched call me by your name. yes i'm in the pursuit of sadness and misery.

sleeping has got to be my top 5 hobbies and top 5 opps. HOW DO I MANAGE TO SLEEP SO MUCH??????

your name is constantly humming in my chest.

i want to do stuff but i also don't want to do anything.

personally, i really wanna enjoy my life next year

but something about this doesn't fit right with my do kaudi ki kismet

i really really really wish i was a cat because i'm clearly not built to live in this capitalist society. i'm built for sleeping 17 hours a day and knocking things over.

mere mitochondria ki power khatam h

i might be broke but apparently not broke enough to deny myself something sweet every single day?

is saste and ache jeans just a myth?

i keep thinking sleep is the closest thing to escape that i have. when i sleep, time loosens its fingers and days stop demanding names from me. morning, evening, night, what are they, really, except different shades of the same fatigue? i wake up and it feels like i never fully arrived. the hours blur together like wet ink, each one staining the next until the page is unreadable. i exist in repetition. eat, lie down, read, scroll, think too much, sleep again. it is not living, but it is not absence either. it is being suspended and pinned in a place. i want to leave. i want to dissolve. i want to slip out of the role of a person who must do. must progress. must become. i am so tired of becoming. it feels like a threat now. there are days when i crave motion the way lungs crave air. i want to walk until my thoughts fall behind me, until my body remembers it is more than a container for restlessness. but the walls stay where they are. i read to feel occupied, but the words blur. i lie down to rest, but the rest turns heavy, and shameful. even sleep sometimes feels like another form of hiding. i imagine a me that is not expected to explain this tiredness. someone allowed to be silent without being questioned. someone whose stillness is not mistaken for laziness or failure. i don’t want to disappear because i hate living. i want to disappear because i am exhausted from holding myself together. i want a pause long enough for my thoughts to stop echoing. i want to wake up and feel like the day is distinct, like it has edges, like it wants me. and i hope that wanting to escape does not mean i am weak but only that i am overwhelmed.