I don’t want to keep walking, I don’t want to stop either. My mind is still, like a mind never is. It’s a roller coaster, a still, abandoned roller coaster.

It’s been 10 months now. Of joy, worry, hope, doubt. Of not caring, daydreaming, pretending, accepting. Of starting books, not finishing them, doing what I am passionate about, putting myself out there, focusing on plan A, but keeping plan B alive, taking in my successes and learning from my failures, like all the self help writers advise the masses on sleek blogs. Some even manage to conjure entire books of a single self help idea, baffling.