u/Dhulpetaaa

Do you guys ever get a random thought??

Like, mana Telugu journals lo, Reddit lo interact ayye vaallani… maybe we’ve already seen them somewhere IRL ah?

Maybe library or cafe lo opposite table daggara chill ayyi chadivi unntam. Maybe varsham padutunte same bus shelter kinda awkward ga wait chesi untam. Maybe airport security line lo mundhu venaka stand ayyi untam.

Leda bookstore lo last copy kosam iddaram same time lo reach ayyi untam. (Yes, delulu nenu, thittukondi).

Appudu? They’re just some random person in our POV.

But ikkada, the same person oka comment tho mana day ni better chesi undochu. Oka anonymous post chadivi, “+1” ani feel ayyi undochu. Oka username chusi random ga navvi scroll chesi undochu.

Internet feels anonymous af. Kani aalochisthe, we might’ve literally stood next to each other so many times… without even noticing.

I sometimes wonder,

What if strangers aren’t really strangers? Maybe they’re just people whose stories we have heard but never know it was them?

Maybe aa okka thought chaalu cuz, mana mundhu kanipinche prathi okkarini koncham ekkuva understand cheyadaniki, konchem ekkuva kindness tho treat cheyadaaniki.

Because,

We never know.

You were never mine, but for 2 years I felt like you were. You were no simple dog. You were my life, my happiness, and honestly everything I never knew that I needed.

You used to annoy me, how naughty you were. I’d be scolding you all the time. But if I had one more chance, I would let you do all those silly things again just to see you running around the house again.

I loved you as if you were my own child. Or even more than that. You made me understand why they say dogs are man's best friend. No matter how bad my day was, you were always there to see me. ...how you'd come running to me when I came home...no one has ever made me feel that loved.

A year has passed since you left but i still cry for you. I don't think I'll ever quite quit. To see you there without life… That’s a memory I wish I could forget, but I know I never will. That day a piece of me died.

You showed me what true unconditional love is. You never asked anything of me except for my company and somehow you gave me more love than I could ever give back. You weren't a dog, Junnu.You were family, you were my best friend.

No matter how many years go by, there will always be a place in my heart for you. Na kosam wait chesthu untav ga? I remember your favourite chicken still. I will bring it when we meet each other. Until then... I wish you well, running around without pain. I love you, always will.

Reading a book feels miserable these days.

Not because of reels or short videos. I don't watch that stuff anthagaa.

It's just that my mind feels crowded.

I sit down to read, and within minutes, I'm thinking about college, the future, people I've lost, conversations from years ago, and things that haven't even happened yet. The page stays in front of me, but my mind doesn't.

What scares me is that I wasn't always like this.

There was a time when I could dive into books for hours. I could focus so deeply that the world went silent. Learning was exciting. Curiosity came easily. Now, even two minutes of concentration feels heavy.

Sleep isn’t much better.

Some nights, I lie awake staring at the ceiling while my thoughts run in circles. Other nights, I wake up feeling like I never really slept. It's as if my mind keeps working long after the day ends.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the people I’ve lost.

It’s strange how grief works. You can go months feeling okay and convincing yourself you’ve moved on, only for a random night, familiar smell, rainy evening, or single memory to bring everything rushing back. Not because you've forgotten how to live without them, but because some part of you never stopped missing them.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m losing myself. Not dramatically, but quietly and slowly in ways that are hard to explain.

I isolate without meaning to. My family tries to keep me close. My brother especially does his best to pull me out of my room for conversations, meals, and little moments together. I genuinely want that too.

But somehow, I always drift back into my own corner.

Not because I don't love them or care. I just get tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of worrying. Tired of carrying conversations when my own mind is already loud enough.

The odd part is that loneliness and isolation aren’t the same thing.

I don’t feel alone because nobody is there. I feel alone because I spend so much time inside my own head.

Sometimes it feels like there’s someone living there rent-free. A version of me that constantly overthinks, replays old memories, predicts worst-case scenarios, and reminds me of every person I’ve ever had to say goodbye to.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

Most people carry things they’ll never post about. Most people try to hold themselves together while quietly missing someone, fearing something, or grieving a version of themselves they haven’t seen in a while.

Maybe that’s part of growing up.

Not becoming completely different, but searching for the parts of yourself that get buried under stress, expectations, loss, responsibility, and time.

I don’t know if this is an identity crisis. I don’t know if I’m becoming someone new. I don’t know if I’m losing myself.

What I do know is that I miss the version of me that felt lighter. The version that wasn’t afraid of tomorrow. The version that could sleep peacefully. The version that could sit with a book and get lost in its pages instead of getting lost in her thoughts.

Maybe she’s still here.

Maybe she’s just tired.

And maybe, for now, that's enough of an explanation.

Reading a book feels miserable these days.

Not because of reels or short videos. I don't watch that stuff anthagaa.

It's just that my mind feels crowded.

I sit down to read, and within minutes, I'm thinking about college, the future, people I've lost, conversations from years ago, and things that haven't even happened yet. The page stays in front of me, but my mind doesn't.

What scares me is that I wasn't always like this.

There was a time when I could dive into books for hours. I could focus so deeply that the world went silent. Learning was exciting. Curiosity came easily. Now, even two minutes of concentration feels heavy.

Sleep isn’t much better.

Some nights, I lie awake staring at the ceiling while my thoughts run in circles. Other nights, I wake up feeling like I never really slept. It's as if my mind keeps working long after the day ends.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the people I’ve lost.

It’s strange how grief works. You can go months feeling okay and convincing yourself you’ve moved on, only for a random night, familiar smell, rainy evening, or single memory to bring everything rushing back. Not because you've forgotten how to live without them, but because some part of you never stopped missing them.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m losing myself. Not dramatically, but quietly and slowly in ways that are hard to explain.

I isolate without meaning to. My family tries to keep me close. My brother especially does his best to pull me out of my room for conversations, meals, and little moments together. I genuinely want that too.

But somehow, I always drift back into my own corner.

Not because I don't love them or care. I just get tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of worrying. Tired of carrying conversations when my own mind is already loud enough.

The odd part is that loneliness and isolation aren’t the same thing.

I don’t feel alone because nobody is there. I feel alone because I spend so much time inside my own head.

Sometimes it feels like there’s someone living there rent-free. A version of me that constantly overthinks, replays old memories, predicts worst-case scenarios, and reminds me of every person I’ve ever had to say goodbye to.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

Most people carry things they’ll never post about. Most people try to hold themselves together while quietly missing someone, fearing something, or grieving a version of themselves they haven’t seen in a while.

Maybe that’s part of growing up.

Not becoming completely different, but searching for the parts of yourself that get buried under stress, expectations, loss, responsibility, and time.

I don’t know if this is an identity crisis. I don’t know if I’m becoming someone new. I don’t know if I’m losing myself.

What I do know is that I miss the version of me that felt lighter. The version that wasn’t afraid of tomorrow. The version that could sleep peacefully. The version that could sit with a book and get lost in its pages instead of getting lost in her thoughts.

Maybe she’s still here.

Maybe she’s just tired.

And maybe, for now, that's enough of an explanation.

Reading a book feels miserable these days.

Not because of reels or short videos. I don't watch that stuff anthagaa.

It's just that my mind feels crowded.

I sit down to read, and within minutes, I'm thinking about college, the future, people I've lost, conversations from years ago, and things that haven't even happened yet. The page stays in front of me, but my mind doesn't.

What scares me is that I wasn't always like this.

There was a time when I could dive into books for hours. I could focus so deeply that the world went silent. Learning was exciting. Curiosity came easily. Now, even two minutes of concentration feels heavy.

Sleep isn’t much better.

Some nights, I lie awake staring at the ceiling while my thoughts run in circles. Other nights, I wake up feeling like I never really slept. It's as if my mind keeps working long after the day ends.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the people I’ve lost.

It’s strange how grief works. You can go months feeling okay and convincing yourself you’ve moved on, only for a random night, familiar smell, rainy evening, or single memory to bring everything rushing back. Not because you've forgotten how to live without them, but because some part of you never stopped missing them.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’m losing myself. Not dramatically, but quietly and slowly in ways that are hard to explain.

I isolate without meaning to. My family tries to keep me close. My brother especially does his best to pull me out of my room for conversations, meals, and little moments together. I genuinely want that too.

But somehow, I always drift back into my own corner.

Not because I don't love them or care. I just get tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of worrying. Tired of carrying conversations when my own mind is already loud enough.

The odd part is that loneliness and isolation aren’t the same thing.

I don’t feel alone because nobody is there. I feel alone because I spend so much time inside my own head.

Sometimes it feels like there’s someone living there rent-free. A version of me that constantly overthinks, replays old memories, predicts worst-case scenarios, and reminds me of every person I’ve ever had to say goodbye to.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

Most people carry things they’ll never post about. Most people try to hold themselves together while quietly missing someone, fearing something, or grieving a version of themselves they haven’t seen in a while.

Maybe that’s part of growing up.

Not becoming completely different, but searching for the parts of yourself that get buried under stress, expectations, loss, responsibility, and time.

I don’t know if this is an identity crisis. I don’t know if I’m becoming someone new. I don’t know if I’m losing myself.

What I do know is that I miss the version of me that felt lighter. The version that wasn’t afraid of tomorrow. The version that could sleep peacefully. The version that could sit with a book and get lost in its pages instead of getting lost in her thoughts.

Maybe she’s still here.

Maybe she’s just tired.

And maybe, for now, that's enough of an explanation.