Bombay Balchao

by Jane Borges

Our minds are surprisingly gifted with this innate ability to omit events that we do not to wish to revisit. But a slight trigger and the mind retrieves them for us, playing them out in technicolour.

some lies are often only said so that a few truths are concealed. The bigger the lie, the more painful the truth.

You know that feeling when a wish comes true, even if for a few fleeting seconds? And just when you think you could hold on to it for a lifetime, it disappears?

Love makes you dreamy, deaf and dumb—a mute, floaty, gullible victim to the cruelties of that head-spinning feeling.

Time heals the broken. Sometimes, the healing is slow. Sometimes, it is slower. You cannot predict how long it will take before one forgets what it all felt like—heartbreak, the pain, the anguish, and that emptiness. Years could roll by, and you’d have done ten million different things to keep yourself from thinking, and yet, the mind would remember that moment when your life fell apart and crushed you whole.