Intimacy

When you do something, you belong somewhere, to some clan. When you change, you change your clan. The sense of belonging keeps moulding. There is perhaps no intimacy. No privacy. Nothing of your own shades. No true reflections. Yet you keep matching. Greys with greys. It becomes exhausting. And when you are exhausted with the world, you crave for intimacy. Then you take respite in womb of literature. And the more you read, the more beautiful you feel. The more beautiful you feel, the more peaceful you are. The more peaceful you are, the more intimate you become. With peace. With beauty. With a thought. And with that thought you try again the next day to do something. To belong somewhere. What a fool! You don't realise you'll lose it again.