I think I think too much. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why we all are born – to think of the reasons why we are born at all. I start my day wondering about what I’ll make of it, and end it thinking what I made of it.

In these thoughts, I end up making nothing of my time. I am not my thoughts.

Don’t you get sick of it? Your voice repeatedly telling what this could be and what that was. How this works? Why does it work? What works and what does not? There is no control to what we think. And, perhaps there never will be in a world so sane. It’s impossible for one to not think. It’s almost as if one would stop breathing.

You breathe, you think.

Breath is all it takes to solve this. You are not your thoughts. You are the breath, you repeat your rhythm. Your thoughts are only but a perspective of a dimension so cleanly not possible by me to describe. I’ve been meditating now and then. It’s hard to not only get rid of the bad habits for me – but also to cultivate good ones.

What is your meditation? Your time writing something. Your dance. Your ride to the mountain peak. Your breath.


When there is freedom, there is the choice to write. I can’t face a few hurdles while I’m not focused. These drugs are just another way out. But, I don’t need a way out. I want a way in. I want to trip inwards and make me see the world in me. This just might help me see the world I live in. A way out.

All the answers I seek are right here. It only takes time to go through.

I hit the border. A sip of water. So, when I talk borders, what comes to your mind? How far from here are borders to you? Do you see countries of a different kind on the other side of the border? Do you see a different world?

Or, do you not see a border at all?

Live, suffer, die. Live, stream, dive. I see why I can’t fly in this world. I am supposed to walk and see what’s above me. It reminds me how small I am to this world, this universe. To these we are just a tiny dot on the longest line of time. We are probably not even seconds in the hours of this universe.

And, everything will fade. Nothing of this might remain except for as memories.

Come ride with me. Let’s go to places far from here where there are no borders but every single soul dancing to a singular beat. A rhythm of the universe making us come together to our history. Let’s fly together, we don’t need any wings for us to fly.

Here’s our highway, let’s walk!

Art cover by u/Pablo_MGN


It’s taken me all of my time spending time doing nothing to realise I miss writing. I miss writing. It is like taking away the life support of someone in coma. Where coma is me being in a state of limbo deciding what to do to take care of boredom, and the life support being my habit of writing.

So, I have started writing again. It gives me the power to be myself and keep my readers interested about the stories I tell. What stories do I tell? Actually, I might never know when writing can only be a door to the world of knowledge. We’ll know, but we’ll also be aware of the story happening in the moment.

Does this make sense?

I don’t care if it makes any sense. Why does everything have to mean something? My fingers dance on the keyboard and I let the music be my words. Woman, I just love writing. Writing gives me the relief I have potentially never come across in life. I put my thoughts down here for the world to wonder and myself to mull over.

What makes sense if not this?

I sometimes think I am not honest when I write to you, my readers. A bunch, actually. To think about it, my thoughts are far beyond the numbers I can count for a moment. But, the ones to read them are only a handful. I get decent amount of readers to all of my posts. We are a tiny family now with nearly two hundred followers and only a fifty reading actively.

Sometimes seventeen people make sense together.

To this, I am grateful. To you, I owe my all. I don’t know how to thank using my words to you who read me. Who try to understand me. Who take time to waste their time on my words. But, friend, words are all I have. So, please take these from my side.

Words are all it might take.

Asshrey ’21