Have been roaming..forests..pine trees..valleys by the side of the moutains..ugly sea shores ...rivers that swallow everything ...heaths that can quietly take in a lot-just to bury the madness.
But like a cat, it always finds me back. I generally land back in this awful city of yellow trains and feigned coolnesss feeling a bit releaved-only to find it back at my door. It always reaches back before me.
May be should travel longer, like thousands of miles. To that place where I was born. It is a place with immense capacity to bury. Amidst the smell of fresh fish, dampness of the mud in rain and bookshops that translate the sorrrows of the whole world in our mother tongue, I might be able to bury this. It is a place that can sink more than what you intend to bury. But may be should take a chance. Might be able to walk free again with lightness in feet and heart and a small set of flowers tied together in a way that you won't find anywhere else in the world.