The right word, if I could use it, is ’distaste’ for most things in life. Except for good food, old melodies and good movies, there's nothing else I find exciting about life anymore. Even books, which used to be an escape zone for me once, doesn't offer me much respite now. My patience level cannot manage to meet with what a book demands. And all these random scribbling are what that still ties me to the literary world that's getting more and more out of bounds for me.



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