Across twenty years. Loving the same smell. What are the roots.
Face after face after face, and year after year, role after role - the same face reflects across photographs. Affection isn't multiplied, it is fragmented, confused, lost.
Does liking something reflect on a quality inherent in it, or on the nature of the need present in me? Is it necessarily frightening to love someone because she resembles someone I used to love years back?
Reflecting on these things, today sitting alone in Delhi. When I feel like talking all my phone numbers seem to be wrong, false.
Being sad isn't easier than being easy. Pure sadness is as rare as pure joy. As enriching. Can I take it?
Delhi at pre-dawn, Delhi at mid-night, from here to Nagpur, from there to Ahmedabad. Each going-back-home feels like something to look forward to.
Making more proposals, completing my script (still!!!).
Looking forward to taking a short break in October, when Rachel comes over. Feeling clever and looking at my history as a strange story - how will I live completely, amnesia is a state of mind.