nothing to write today.

The diary lies away from him.

Pages; filled with memorable and negligible moments.

With random shades of reds, blues, blacks and carbon,

highlighting the days, he once lived.

Between at random, also exists signs of torn days.

Its crude edges reminds of transformation, fights and acceptance.

Of fake glory and friends.

Between the pages; 

Lies wild flowers and a small piece of perfumed cloth; 

probably of his first love.

'Let we be skin to skin, breath to breath closer.' - Radha.

Glimpses of lost lives and re-visited places; 

lies dead, pictures of known and forgotten.

They depicted his life graph; start, middle and middle.

On one such page, he wrote,'where would it all end?'.

Continued by doodles and happier times.

It held his remorse, his true happiness and curiosities.

His discoveries, experience and lessons.

His utmost fears, insecurities and truths.

Policy dates, salary expectations and debts.

The pages thus further, had started to shrink down.

They later held only names, addresses and mobile numbers.

Calculations; credits and debits.

Following days had nothing more.

Few notes here and there.

Thats all.

'Hopefully', he wrote.

'This, possibly is the end. 

I have nothing to write further.

Nothing to write today.'