The Pandemic, of writing

I think people who had abandoned writing across the world would have picked it up by now. Here's me trying to catch up with them. And 'writing' is going to be pissed with me for not doting on it. Sorry! What can I say!

Social distancing seems to be just my sort of thing. I have a good mind to call many many people and tell them 'Hey, you know we are supposed to be doing social distancing correct? Which means we don't call or text'. That does not make a lot of sense, announcing to individuals on a call that I do not want to be bothered. That's a lot of work in itself. I know I am not making sense. There's something very medieval-type-romantic about not making sense. About writing completely narcissistic prose about nothing at all. And no I am not high. I am just re-discovering the virtues of solitude.

While the pandemic is filling up blog pages exponentially, there, I did my bit

Education

I wrote when I was falling in love. When any amount of reasoning could not prevent me from falling in love. There are bits of you which I couldn't let go. There are bits of you I didn't want around. I am sure, it would have been the same vice versa. Oh, wait! I am not so sure anymore. There probably weren't any bits of me you didn't want around.

Even as we part, I should tell that what we had for each other was heart-wrenchingly beautiful. But the heart-wrenchingly beautiful parts were not enough, we knew. These parts were some glue, but not the right glue.