Flipping through the pages of my diary

I’ve come to a realization about care and nonchalance. I know the world is going through a nonchalance epidemic, but I’ve realized that nonchalance only exists when you don’t care about somebody. Because every time you truly care, that care will slip through your words, your actions.  It will always rise to the surface. And the other person will always know that they are cared for, that they matter to someone. So I think, as long as I care about you or about anyone, nonchalance isn’t my thing. But yes, I’m sure I’m nonchalant toward every person I never liked or never cared about. So nonchalance isn’t something cool. If someone shows that they are nonchalant, they really don’t care and you should pack your bags and walk away. Because life is too short to be with someone who doesn’t care about you. Let’s not call it friendship, let’s not call it love, lets not say, " oh they are just emotionally not very expressive. Let’s just call it, "I don’t deserve this " and move on....

I don't think I ever stopped writing, I just think poetry stopped visiting me. I think it must have found someone better, Who can grasp words like no one else, Who can express emotions no one felt. I think poetry forgot my home. I think I no longer long for its visit. I think nothing much anymore— I feel nothing more, More than the name the tip of my tongue holds, But dares never call. I think I feel exasperated, Trying to write something I don't know. Bonds of yesterday have gone, Like mist in the morning. I have been sipping tea every afternoon. Poetry has left my lanes. I have nothing more to conclude. I have lived a life of fun. Now, when the time comes, I must bid goodbye to those who are gone. This is the only lesson of life I must learn. This is the night I realized, When my heart noticed this silence howling for too long. There are no words on the sheets— None in my heart, none in my head. Poetry must have left my home, And all my diaries, one evening. So I sit with no ...