Floating Towards Myself
This weekend, I drifted into the hills of Kashmir—rolling roads, green slopes, and skies that seemed endless. The scenery was there, yes, but it felt less like a destination and more like a backdrop to the quiet storm inside me. For days, I had been wrestling with the truth of my feelings for someone—a crush that once seemed so consuming, so vivid. But love, when it’s only one-sided, slowly shows its cracks. Her reality no longer matched the image I had painted, and in those mountains, I began to let the paint fade. At the lake, I stepped into a boat and let it carry me across the water. The oars dipped and rose like a heartbeat, steady and unhurried. For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t chasing after answers or replaying what-ifs. I was simply floating—between sky and water, between memory and release. The stillness of the lake spoke louder than any voice: not everything we desire is meant to be held. Kashmir is vast and unshaken. Its peaks do not bend for anyone’s sorrow, its riv...