Sharon Eappen

There’s a book that I’m re-reading from four years ago beside me on a bed I haven’t made since the last 7 hours that I was awake. Further away from that is a messy table that belonged to my sister that I haven’t bothered to clean either. There’s a dusty bookshelf and a sofa with a bundle of unused clothes facing me that I choose to ignore. Even my own table that lies across me isn’t all that great for a person who’s extremely particular with minute details. That’s me some days. The organized well-kept me who on days like this cannot care to give in more energy than this. My chappals are strewn cause I was in a hurry to get onto my bed and journal. On days like these, typing this is so much more comforting than writing it into my diary. Diary writing is fun, no doubt. I like the different coloured pens I use and the art of highlighting the words I wanna tell myself on that day. It’s like an encouragement from me to me. But screw that today. Those organized and coloured sentences...