These nights. Bring some old times buried 6 feet deep under my memory to the earth again. Like they were waiting to be found. And digged up just at the right moment. So I can see through them again as a world of yesterday. Making me realize the fact on my face that they were pretty much me. Who got the knife from the kitchen this same night 5 years ago to catch myself red-handed. Crying alone in these delicate hours for something that was never mine. At a place which is cursed to remain mine. I wondered whether I have changed even a little since that day. Because even today I am crying over a craving. A craving for something that might not be good for me. Over even be meant for me. Even today I see myself prying in my head to look for something easy. Something which can be used as an scapegoat. Something which wouldn't make me think about all this ever again. Maybe my head inside a bucket full of water. Maybe that plastic carry bag trick I tried Long time ago. Come to think about it I have even tried the bucket thing too. To fail at that too. But what are the options. In the end of the day this is where I stand. Struggling to stand on my own. Reminiscing about that wall my old therapist talked about. He said how it's good to have multiple walls around you. So if one falls you can always lean on other one. But here I am sitting in dark eternal endless seamless room. Not looking for a wall, just a rope and roof.