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Only in a story

Only in fairy tales are there kids who
love their parents back without knowing about
the indifferent apathetic universe.

Only in lore are there kids who are grateful -
who are satisfied knowing-
that there are people who take charge of their life
and who care about them and feed them
and make troubles their own
Before going into the space of empty thought
and loss of purpose.

Only in a story is there a kid
who understands the value
of what he has not yet lost.

You can start a story about a man
who was happy about his job and his family
and about the little joys of life

You can start a story about a woman
whose family is everything for her
and who was sacrificial and truthful
and joyous and giving.

In reality, such a lady is in denial.
In reality, she is pretentious.
In reality, such a man is not curious
In reality, such a man is dull.
Question-less, flat.

Happiness in a tale is the lie
that must keep the possibility of real happiness alive.
Truths that we say automatically imply the great density
of the opposite as being equally as possible.

Don't give me those stories about happy, responsible people.
What it implies is too dark for me to live with.

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लाल वस्तू

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angry

my grandmother used to spot in us a hereditary anger the chest learning to well up blood learning to leap and breath learning to crawl foreheads burning with heat of little children the attempt of anger to become disgusting raging energy that will occupy every living stream. nobody wants to hold an angry person rage drunk, getting bigger and bigger until other people are invisible like ants and you can dissolve them in your hot blood and things around you break and shatter at this point she would hold. a violent hand shaking her away Ya I remember my grandmother used to spot it in us as children already And hold our hand "until you get over your rage I will not let go of your hand"  hold VERY TIGHTLY "I will not leave your hand until you learn how you should calm down" i would fail despite that gesture  to understand what was happening and i could not receive love at that time because i have so much anger But the act she is doing is still that of HOLDING

Numbers

I know now the minute at which the sun sets and rises When I'm nervous I know the speed at which my heart runs when it floods I know the amount of water that overflowed in cusecs. The number of animals that are alive within some species The degrees by which the earth is heating and the exact amount of diminished magnetism. I have recorded the day and the time the GPS co-ordinates of when we grew apart the number of letters in goodbye as a faithful accountant of the heart I have no numbers on my loneliness the degree by which expression dumbed down and smiling and frowning became more similar like interpolated homotopic lines coefficients of a grey space of feelings.