Because I can't possibly write to him any more than I already have, even my over-filmy "ji le apni zindagi" self wouldn't permit that, I'm back to square one writing here. And I don't know what to write about. I don't even know if I actually like this situation. Perhaps, to be truthful, I don't. I am so habituated to have lived with myself and my thoughts all these days, that it feels a little strange even to peep out of the shell. If I ever revel in our newfound friendship this very shrewd self of mine would taunt me - why, you simply brought that about. There's nothing natural about it. Everything is concocted. And I am hurt at my own words. I don't even have the strength to argue with myself. I don't want to. I don't have a point to prove. To myself, to anybody else. I don't even feel anxious for him to write back to me. I might even be happy if he doesn't. Because this duality is confusing. The thing that I want to keep under the wraps looks very exposed if he writes to me regularly. And the instability of it is a bit depressing. Like if he writes, he's bound to stop some day. I don't want to live with that uncertainty. I am so tired of uncertainties...
So I am finally really truly happy with life. With my 3 pets, one lady doggy and two puppies, my "beloved" pen friend and my romanticism being rewarded in a strange way. I still feel like hiding my blog lest he discovers it somehow. How will he feel about what I write here. He knows my eccentricities and the split personality thingy. He's my psychologist after all. Still, will it be difficult for him to gulp this down? Will our friendship be affected? I don't know. I have always been depressed in my blog. And I've had terrible men in my life. Is it really possible that a man would finally be good to me and will understand me?
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