yours truly,

3rd December, 2025.

good morning, from delhi. i was up all night rewatching the haunting of hill house. i get why you recommended the show to me five years ago better now. you were in delhi back then, i was in kerala. i cried when gregory started singing if i go, i’m going over the final scene again. it begins exactly when shirley says she's going to jump and asks her best friend to hold her hand as she falls.

i get shirley better this time around. i get the obsessive compulsion to fix things. to cover death in make up. i was obsessed with time as a theme the first time i watched it but all i could see this time around was the shame, the fear, and the guilt riddled into all our hauntings.

i sit on my roof as i write this and there's something yk? something about delhi and ghosts. the smoke is like an alibi.

to live life in search for proof leaves you feeling a little stupid at the end of it all when everything unravels. because you were waiting to know in your bones that which never breaks the skin- death, absence, longing, loss, and all their ghostly impressions. good old emptiness.

but these are never known, they are only felt.

& feelings are fleeting, in flux with their environment, chasing equilibrium. our ancient, evolutionary will to homeostasis is stubborn. feelings pass through you gently and dissipate easy into wherever calls them.

judging horror characters for following the sound to the creepy basement completely misses the point. of course you follow the ghost. because most times, a ghost is a wish.

i write this to a ghost of you- i know you don't read these. you're back in kerala now, bidding good riddance to delhi. & i’m so swollen with pride when i think of you & everything you do. you taught me to love easy, with your beautiful hair and lazy face.

as the sun rises over noida, from my south facing vantage point, i think of death as a scattering. and vice versa too. so while i’m alive, i’ll be picking up my pieces. but i’m finding yours too.

sometimes i only drink because i know i’ll want to call you. missing you, amiss, i lose pieces of myself, scattered, searching for your arms. but i carry you still, in learned quirks and kept secrets. the house we built with our limbs and haunted with our hearts. it’s calling us home.