November 30, 2023


Dear ghost,

My life as a book shall be hidden in the middle of a library. Neither is it secretly collecting dust at the corner nor is it worn out, for everyone reads it. The biography of my life is the most ignored yet so redundant. The library is buried deep beneath the sand. The plethora of books are mostly tales that we all have heard of.  The pages smells such as those of most. The font of my words are frighteningly  common. I am the common. The mundane.  The similar. The existence often termed as cliche. And that's what scares me.

Yours even as I fear it.