"We talk too many languages at home, one louder than the other. It's impossible to trap a jugnu in a jar"

I’m no good at masturbating. For me, sex has always been about two, of the hunt or being hunted, of being desired, of falling headfirst into the abyss of the other.

I made everything beautiful
And it didn’t make a difference
You still cried in the morning

I have stopped dressing to be seen; I dress for walking. I cropped my hair and allowed it to go salt and pepper. With the mask and the hair and the tennis shoes, I am unrecognizable, sometimes even to myself.

“Sometimes, belonging to a place means longing to leave it. Sometimes it means knowing you can always go back.”

On nights that I can't sleep, I feel sorry for my eggs. I worry that they're suffering in their own snow country of liquid nitrogen. I know such concerns are beyond ridiculous. After all, my eggs are not tiny, microscopic people. They aren't even embryos.