By Riwaz Poudyal, Nov ‘11
Associate Editor-YJAW
Nepal
Excerpt from the novel I’m currently working on:
The story never seems to end. After two years of strenuously suppressing my thoughts and emotions, I realized that only time isn’t enough to ameliorate the heart. It’s haunting to realize that after so many months of suffering and enduring alone, nothing has changed and nothing has been lost from the mind. All those excruciating moments I restrained from thinking about you were waste-they didn’t as much asassuage the intensity of love that still haunts the profundity of my heart. After two years of deliberate repulsion, I stood where I was in the past; my heart still bleeding and my vulnerability falling prey again to the nostalgia of that agonizing incision on my soul.
I could have barely depicted, let alone aspired, that life would present me a day like this.The desire to talk to you again and to look into your eyes like I did almost a million years ago was slaked today, and for the moment, I didn’t care about the alcohol that ran in your veins. I didn’t care if it was you or a marauder pretending to be the reincarnation of the person I knew so intimately in the past. The pleasant and miraculously palliative feelings of your hands touching mine, of the warmth of your breath in my face, of walking beside you, of sitting next to you, which were extinct in my memories, were rejuvenated to live again, but only for a brief moment.
Excerpt from the novel I’m currently working on:
The story never seems to end. After two years of strenuously suppressing my thoughts and emotions, I realized that only time isn’t enough to ameliorate the heart. It’s haunting to realize that after so many months of suffering and enduring alone, nothing has changed and nothing has been lost from the mind. All those excruciating moments I restrained from thinking about you were waste-they didn’t as much asassuage the intensity of love that still haunts the profundity of my heart. After two years of deliberate repulsion, I stood where I was in the past; my heart still bleeding and my vulnerability falling prey again to the nostalgia of that agonizing incision on my soul.
I could have barely depicted, let alone aspired, that life would present me a day like this.The desire to talk to you again and to look into your eyes like I did almost a million years ago was slaked today, and for the moment, I didn’t care about the alcohol that ran in your veins. I didn’t care if it was you or a marauder pretending to be the reincarnation of the person I knew so intimately in the past. The pleasant and miraculously palliative feelings of your hands touching mine, of the warmth of your breath in my face, of walking beside you, of sitting next to you, which were extinct in my memories, were rejuvenated to live again, but only for a brief moment.
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