I hate being a girl. I have always hated girlishness, if you understand what I mean. So implicitly I hate over excitement. Let things calm down a bit. I shall again take my blog online. Because this chokes me. The fact that nobody would know my story. That I had loved a man. Who said on my birthday that I look beautiful. And he likes my blue saree. And who writes to me saying that I should always stay the same - happy, loving and intimidating at times. Whatever that might mean. And I couldn't reply back. My heart ached, I laughed and cried, before I fell asleep, clutching the flower. Yellow rose means friendship, doesn't it? And I should be happy that I have such a good friend. Then why do I falter in talking to him? Why does my heart break into shreds. And why am I so ashamed of this madness. The fact that I love him. Why do I feel my life will collapse if anybody who knows us gets to know about this?
I shall gradually stop discussing these things in my blog. These entries would get old and get lost amid 100s of blog posts. Our photos would be tucked away safely in some unreachable corner of my hard disk. I shall be able to control my stalking tendencies. It would be then that I would take my blog online again, if I don't die in between. And if I do, my blog remains lost in the web, for good.
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