Unfinished
Because some connections are precious enough to hold, even within uncertainty. Ghantaghar, the anchor of my soul, is being rebuilt. The road to Devkota Museum, still traversing through the gallis in Maitidevi where I would peek at every week returning from my appointments. The constellations, always moving, and a little hope of witnessing the Milky Way still tagging along with me. The moon, fresh off of its permanence from the new moon night, still going on, one phase at a time. "Dagbatti" by Bhim Nidhi Tiwari echoing in my ears as I embrace a stranger's nothingness. Devkota's Veshya watches me from over a परमानन्द flavored airy Kathmandu, and the words of his, I continue to borrow: म दिन्न अंशदान ए ! म सिंगुलै चढाउँछु ! I'll give it all. If I don't, I don't know who I am anymore. A point on a vector space, I am nothing but a logical manifestation of singular identity drawing waves and functions and trying to trace their continuity. But I don't know ...