Who am I?

Sometimes I miss the person I was when I first fell in love, the person I was when I fell in river of sadness that took me to the sea of blues, the person I was when I became adaptive to the darkness like one of those rare flying fish, the person I was who had a dream or two or three, the person who lived in happy fantasies where everything was just the way it should be sunny and peachy, the person I am not anymore.

I am still a warrior but I’m not a fish anymore just a seashell collector who is blue in color, lives around ruins from the sea of past and often smiles when comes across rusty pieces of what life was once upon a time.

Who am I?

A girl, a fish, a sea shell collector or a ghost that breathes like humans do?
Though I quite often feel like painting fallen in a pool of water who’s fresh paints are no longer on it, but still spilled all around.

Who am I?

Am I a painting?

Something old, something blue.

I miss what I was because once, at least I knew what I was. Now I’m like invalid and a lost space junk that is there but can’t remember why and how it got there.

Who am I?

Am I space junk?

Strange but even as I type I can hear a faint heartbeat, which means I’m alive and probably human like.

Who am I?

Am I a person, a living human specie? If yes then why do I feel unalive?

You want me to believe in God and I will one-day, but what am I to do after finding God when I’m yet to find myself.

I will not ask your God, who am I? Because I don’t want someone else to tell me. I want to find out but it’s too damn dark and though I can see like an owl, all clear and yet still dark, I wonder what road am I on and why?

Who am I?

Am I an owl?

Because if that’s true well at least that answers the beating heart. And why I’m up at 4 in the morning.

Shall I close my eyes now and wait for the planet to rotate and find the sun, so I could ponder on the question with a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

Though this sounds crazy because it could mean I’m a writer. A sad, night owl with bag full of words and an addiction to coffee and food.

Who am I, really?

Once upon a time in Gotham…!!!!

Some days I wake up so bitter that all I want is my headphones and my cup of coffee, with no one coming over to my cubicle to talk to me but it’s not how life goes.

I don’t think I can take part in NaNoWriMo this year, because I might have a busy month with the festival season and the fact that we might have few relatives coming over. Plus, I don’t have a story. I have but not like last year. Maybe if I can spend some time on the different concepts on my mind, but then I don’t know.

Today a funny thing happened; I was on a Skype call with a Polish translator with my Project Manger. He was the one on call and I was sitting next to him because it was a task I was overseeing. So while he was on the phone, I sat there next to him for whole 2 hours just thinking and looking around and day dreaming.

Me: If I could meet a celebrity

Myself: Meg Ryan of course

Me: That would be so awesome

Myself: So Frekin Awesome

Myself: Who else?

Me: Neil Patrick

Myself: Patrick Dempsey

Me: Stana Katic

Myself: Ian somerhalder

Me: Ian, anytime, Ian

Me: Winona Ryder maybe

Myself: That would be cool too

Me: So cool

Myself: Pretty Cool

Me: I know right?

Myself: Yeah

Voices: Hey crazy head look around

Me & Myself: Seriously?

Voices: What?

Me & Myself: Buzz Kill

Truth is I was so bored and sleepy that I was wondering how much fun it would be if I could just meet one of the many people I admire. I have a list of people I would like to meet, most of them are singers and few of them are movie stars and a handful of them come of TV shows. What’s wrong in making a list? Nothing. Plus this comes way too low in the list of crazy things done by me.

nph

I’m just eagerly waiting for Grey’s Anatomy, Glee and Castle to come back now that Pretty Little Liars is on summer break.

I will go and try to finish my book; you guys enjoy a song from another awesome person I would love to meet.