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How Does a Writer's Block feel?

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Nobody really realizes, until it hits them and there's nowhere left to run. It starts with the boredom. When the thought of compiling another set of words into a paragraph or prose section that makes sense begins to seem like a huge task, or when you simply cannot make sense of all the words that are flashing through your head. So fast, that you feel like reaching out and grabbing one, just so you could read it and take comfort in the feeling that you know it, but the horror strikes when you realize you don't really want to. For the longest time, I tried to deny the feeling of being bored and burdened by the thought of my own words. I'd sit to write because a thought crossed my mind and I knew if I wrote it down, I'd get to keep it, save it even. But the words just wouldn't come. Typing started to seem futile. So I tried to jot down everything on pen and paper. It would seem that the block doesn't discriminate between scented parchments combined w

Distractions in the Hyrdo something Class

As I look around at my lovely classmates I realize there's so much to be noticed. I'm done winning at chess once (losing twice) against the CPU, I'm done selecting dresses for my cart and then emptying it (because too many clothes, too little space already), solved a couple sudoku puzzles, listened to my favourite playlist already (the second loop going on). It is only then that I look up to see the prof still at it, trying really hard to get theory into our brains (a theory that has nothing to do with our base). Good effort, vague intentions all around. All of us tried to listen and gave up, he tried to teach and gave up. There's a pigeon outside the classroom, I can hear him cooing better than our prof croaking.  Sometime in the middle I jotted down the contacts of two field related institutions (placement season), checked the news on Google notifications (great developments, too far from us). There is SO much we could be doing right now. A movie, cooking, tr

A Journey to The East

To the city that doesn't change. To the city that is home, to one that calls out to you in the deepest of dreams... There's no pace here. The only one you set is the one you were meant to. When I hear songs of lost times and feelings...of days gone by and of loves I crossed paths with and nights without, it is you that I think of. Home. Never will you find yourself lost, for every lane leads you to your goal. Even if it is an undecided one. Abandoned mansions, overgrown parks, temples in the nooks and mosques on the highway. Of trees that live on and landmarks every Calcattan knows... There is a place in the east that many know of and very few have lived with. You see Kolkata isn't a place you live in. It becomes one with you and yourself. There is no end to the many lanes you lost yourself in while searching for others. The search never ends and therefore no hope is lost. Every turn is a source of excitement and yet the familiarity sets in. There is a pattern to it

You.

I wanted to walk to the moon and back For you I wanted to hold your hand in my little palm And walk across the shore in some foreign land I wanted to take a ferry to some distant place with distant dreams and you beside me I wanted to carry your hopes and sorrows and dreams and share them with the world, so they could see You. I wanted to tell you...so many things So many stories, so many tales Of ice cream cones and starry nights and winter breezes and olden sights I wanted to feel you, touch you See you grow. I wanted to support you when you needed me and watch you unfold. I want... I wanted... you. I wanted to go to that movie you said you'd hated but I loved so much I wanted to catch that bus you promised we would but never got on. I wanted to roam around the streets aimlessly and hear you complain again I wanted to have those fights over a call that I thought were necessary and you knew were lame. We've made history together and I want