The streets of my city never sleep and neither do I. My day starts with a rush, a rush to get into a train and ends with the solemn satisfaction of lying on my bed and texting my people. All day I am running from college to work to shoots to home. My mind is occupied with a million things at a time, including but not limited to why is milk white. And then, in the middle of all this, my mind flits to that one friend, two states away, who is giving an exam in order to become eligible to get married. So, although I have a highly exhausting day, there is that one moment where I think about that friend and smile and giggle stupidly, making other people in my office think that I am mad. Am I mad?
Most definitely not. I am allowed to be me. I am allowed to feel good. I am allowed to forget all the pain my loved ones had given me. Yes you read that right, my loved ones. Because only loved ones can make me feel the way I did. Only loved ones can make me feel powerless, feel unwanted. Others, I do not even care. Or do I?
Anyway, after all that trauma, I am allowed to feel nice. I am allowed to listen to Purple Rain in the night. I am allowed to call that one friend and tell her to be on call as I sleep. I am allowed to live. Or am I?
I do not want to question everything I do or think. I want to be sure of myself. I want to be confident. I want to love again. I want to feel again. I want to hold a hand again. I want to feel the warmth in a friend's hug again. I want all that again and I know that I will get it. Or will I?
