Pain

I am not going to write anymore. Not anything about what's happening, what I'm doing, what I'm feeling. Because I don't want you to know. Because it's awfully painful to see that you just don't care, all of a sudden. I don't want to be Agnisakshi's Nana Patekar. Ok, forget movies. I don't want to be Sritama's Sourav Sadhu. I talked to her, and drew the similarities. I can open a new blog, and start writing there, and not give anyone the link. but no, you were right, ok. I wrote only to let you know. But I don't, anymore. I really don't want you to know anything anymore, because I can't take THIS. I had a successful day today. I was not pretending anything today. I was myself today. I am still being myself. With myself, with you, with him, with everyone. And being myself, with my self, I am saying that I don't want to tell you anything anymore. Of course, with that examination blackmail you'll do tome (you already did) I'll be in touch with you, as usual. But, minimal. I won't ping you when you come online. I won't text you (unless I am in a state as I was in today afternoon at Aditi aunty's place), and I won't call you (unless that's the first thing I do in the morning, when I'm so sleepy that I actually don't remember a thing except that I have to call you up). BBye. Picco has come. To my rescue. HE'll make me laugh. And then he'll leave. And I'll have that uninterrupted feeling of being stifled by big fat hands.