Again I am writing (I’m sure this will turn out to be another one and it’s about time that somebody notice this grim shade to most of my posts) and all will think that I am all sullen and judgmental, but I’m not. It’s only an old habit of mine to share the happiness to all around me, keep the worries buried within. And this surging tension with the virtue of pent up thoughts make me to write up them, relieving me a bit, and explains the moody shade of this page thus. This Blog is a Pensieve(if there was one in this muggle world I would have acquired it ages ago) to store my Brimming Thoughts which I couldn’t share with Others. Period.

Still I’m not being myself here, not being explicit enough. Why? I ask this question often and trust me I don’t know the answer and to be honest I don’t want to know. This is a case (one among many) where I consider myself insane. Well… I’m like this only. Ok.. Ok.. Enough with the blah blah, let me make it clear, the point,  ‘i am not as dull as my posts’.

I thought I would write a poem today, well.. looks like my creativity glands are not secreting enough. No problem, let me try another time, anyway it’s a touchy subject that I have in mind and seriously doubt my alarmed mind going to be of any help.


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