As I am carrying the cake back to my house, I can’t help but wonder how old did I turn today. I don’t know why I am calling this hut a house. It’s nothing like a house. This is a makeshift something. A shelter that’s sheltering itself from falling. I probably shouldn’t badmouth it, after all, it was I who created it. I did a shoddy job though. Forget punching and all, I feel even a strong whiff of negative energy might break it. Actually, a whiff of negative energy can break the strongest of houses. Good metaphor. But in my hut’s case, I literally mean it. Anyway, I don’t know how old I’ve turned today. Or if it’s actually my birthday. I don’t know. Somebody left a cake outside the door so I am just assuming it must be my birthday. I am not young, that’s all I know. I wish I were.
I wonder, if people will ever find out about me when I’m gone. Thinking about leaving a legacy is really selfish, but those who don’t think about it, end up leaving one. Thanks for this . Desperately needed it
Reading this, I feel like, you're that forest for me. And your writings, the books!!
The existentialist tone in your writings win my heart every time. Please write a book already! <3
I want to be lost in the forest now.
I wonder, if people will ever find out about me when I’m gone. Thinking about leaving a legacy is really selfish, but those who don’t think about it, end up leaving one. Thanks for this . Desperately needed it
Glad to have stumbled upon this space 💜