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Whatever you name it, please don’t name it untitled

Whatever you name it, please don’t name it untitled

And whenever they tell my story, tell them where you read it first. On a dirty tissue of some cheap bar. This habit of mine, making up people and places from thin air has been a curse and a boon situation. Quite a few times, it has led me into deep waters, where I was left gasping for air. Drowning in a shallow pool. Do you know what I mean? Or perhaps you don’t.

But there were good times too. Times where they were just enough to pull me out in time. I made the best stories out of the worst times.

Poetic justice is for losers, I have come to say. But the myth-making business. It gets tiresome sometimes. You misremember things for what they exactly were, not for how you imagined them to be. And I used to get all worked up when tales didn’t find a happy end. A closure.

But now that I know what I know. It’s for the best. An almost story has a chance to be rewritten. Scribbled over. Maybe someone, someday, Somewhere turns my stories into gold, when all I ever managed to do was rust them down.

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About The Author

Rupali Kamboj

If you want to know me, trace the curves of my quotes.

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