maybe 18 is like that.
like a one foot out and one foot in the blankie in winters the strive for balance.
metamorphosis
transition.
change.
maybe it is like a stormy sea with waves that crash and toss and flee. and though the winds may rage and howl, your mama is worried about you because your rotis aren't gol an age you're all about adulting yet your feet are the same size as they were when you were considered a child' just kal you were immature enough to drive and now 24 hours later, you can be in the court trying to fight. maybe it's about holding onto the recently-elapsed-childhood-innocence while waiting long hours at NADA queues to get a physical proof you're finally adulting maybe it's worrying about your career, a future of corporate slavery too near, the future once-thought-far, filled with fear but hey all I know is, you're desi, ain't no moving out, my dear.
maybe being 18 is all just about laying in bed with a perturbed mind and noise in your head thinking about what lies ahead and things you could've done instead or writing and writing until your eyes turn red so they close shut escaping the dread or maybe even clinching your fists and gritting your teeth, feeling like you're being put to the test so you take a deep breath and shed no tears because hey all I know is, you're desi, ain't no moving out, my dear.
marred by senseless blurs, all the words splurged
maybe 18 is like that.
finaina khan.
