I write. on days when it is a sea of storms, on days I cannot go to the sea that storms I write. So I could still put it all down whether I am 3 or 30, a way of reaching Dad whether I speak of him or not. Grandad keeps circling my mind, the way my dad used to a melancholy hum on day to day Life will always be bittersweet once you are away from home. My mother used to handle it well even if they weren't taught what it meant when one spoke of depths hidden and deep. She still let me be In places she couldn't reach Sitting there watching sky While I crawled back to her slowly whether I am 30 or 3 Loneliness haunts me Whether I am 30 or 3 It is not an extension I got from my mother my father or thee I have honed it inside me when I created those world(s) inside me while I was trying to escape from the reality Some days the act of creating tragedies of my day disgust me to my core some days I still resort to it to soothe my soul happiness always felt a bit difficult to swallow but...