in lahore's troposphere tonight, dark clouds are jostling one other. the occasional flash of some mute thunder. my preferred form of thunder is the kind that doesn't exist. the one that i can't hear, comes a far second. thor's hammer, crackling windows in the sky, jousts of the gods: i prefer all this in print.

spring has been sprung, and it's those early drizzly, breezy days of summer. life is still bearable without an air-conditioner. just about.

slowly, the textbooks that decorated the bottom section of my book shelf are making their way to my side table. actually pencilled through an entire chapter full of standardized versus adaptive GMS gibberish. my second year into the service and i still feel like a university student.

it's time to write again. i feel it in my bones. enough with the daily hum of activity and the constant being. there is a trove of stories stuck in my head, and i am tired of shutting it close after every first line. it's like i've spent a year cheating on myself. time to be true again.