It's sometimes scary to revisit your own past. There's a little too many things pulling you into a reverie, too many pushing you out of the present reality. It's disheartening, at times, to know that you aren't what you could have been, what you safely assumed was who you wanted to be. It pinches, seeing the chits written by lovers who you spurned away till it hurt, knowing there was more than what you believed it to be. It's a rush of emotions, a path you don't necessarily want to talk down upon.
But then again, there are the smiles at lost memories, finding that CD of the band you used to hear on loop, or simply a sensuous cologne you had hidden in the depths of your cupboard.
It's quite strange being back in Calcutta for the first time since I've been employed. It's like coming back to home, both attached and detached. It's an interesting experience, worthy of writing a story about. But it's a little too overwhelming to deal with at one go. *sigh*
But then again, there are the smiles at lost memories, finding that CD of the band you used to hear on loop, or simply a sensuous cologne you had hidden in the depths of your cupboard.
It's quite strange being back in Calcutta for the first time since I've been employed. It's like coming back to home, both attached and detached. It's an interesting experience, worthy of writing a story about. But it's a little too overwhelming to deal with at one go. *sigh*
I've stopped doing that. Going through my cupboard, that is.
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