Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“Though our nature of existence is limitless, existence alone is limited by our understanding. There are answers to everything, but not everything has questions.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“A human does not make human to the other, but melancholy does. For this reason alone, one feels lonelier without melancholy than without people.

—wordsintheaattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“If you come across a flower growing thorns, then you are in your garden. But if you shall find yourself before thorns growing flowers, then you are in my heart.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“I look for the stars even in daylight. I can never be fulfilled with what my heart wants.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“These thoughts, as though trapped between two mirrors, are endless. With no perception of their originality.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“We have failed. We fail often. We fail brightly as the sun that cannot be there for people all the time. We fail like a sea that doesn't know how to cradle the things that die in its heart. We have also failed like a fruit that falls, longing to be a tree on its own. Every time we fail, we belong to nature more than ourselves. And perhaps this is the greatest aspect of living.”

—Anish KC, wordsintheattic

[wordsintheattic]

“But who has not sipped from death's nectar? For death lives where life blooms wholly. The people who are not courageous enough, spend their lives in the bitter stale of its root and never live long enough to witness the colour of its petals.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“Only the wounded have truly met themselves; the untouched are still strangers to their own soul.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“The other is always a stranger. To believe we know them is to confuse their existence with our perception. Love, then, is often a form of willful self-deception.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“O final breath of the final man! I cradle you like a psalm too holy to finish. Let the wind take us gently. Let the stars bear witness. For we have danced beneath them, painted their shapes into cave stone, and called them by name like lovers we were never meant to touch. Let not the gods grieve us. Let not heaven lower its eyes. We were not meant for permanence, we were meant for burning. And burn we did; with love, with rage, with songs and revolutions, and the impossible belief that we could become light. When the last voice falls quiet and the wind speaks again without interruption, when the sky forgets our names—remember: we were the ones who built fire, who wrote verses in the ashes and sang while the earth split. Let our madness be remembered not as madness, but as a mere flesh who always longed for something eternal.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“Be careful what you baptize as love—some poisons taste like honey when you’re starving.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“To the version of me I had to kill and bury— I now wear your dreams like scars, and call this grave as wisdom. Forgive me. The world was hungry, and I fed it us.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

“The difference between being loved and being understood is that love may draw others to your light, but only understanding teaches them to sit beside your shadows and still call it beautiful.”

—wordsintheattic, Anish KC

[wordsintheattic]

I hear you scratching at the coffin lid sometimes

You who still believed in mercy—

I have worn your death

like a wedding ring,

digging graves with the same hands

you once used to cup fireflies,

to brush your mother's cheek,

to hold love like something

that wouldn't bleed.

Forgive me.

The world demanded teeth,

so I gnawed through our innocence

and called the taste maturity

I miss the way you laughed

before you learned to flinch—

when your voice didn't crack

at the word 'home',

when your spine was still a question mark

instead of a sword.

Now I find your ghost everywhere:

• In old notebooks where *"when I grow up"*

is written in ink that hasn't faded

• In the way summer rain smells

on pavement you'll never walk again

• In strangers' eyes when they ask

*"What happened to you?"*

and I have to lie

They don't tell you

that survival is just

a series of quiet murders—

how you'll choke the light

from your own throat

and call it *being practical*,

how you'll auction off your joy

piece by piece

to pay the rent on a life

you don't even recognize.

I wear your dreams now

like a skin graft that never took—

this scar tissue where hope used to live.

The world was hungry.

It ate us whole.

And I—

I set the table.

[wordsintheattic]

The real me hides where everyone can see—because that’s the one place no one ever truly looks.

—wordsintheattic

[wordsintheattic]

“You can survive just everything, except the person you have to become to survive.”

—Anish KC, wordsintheattic

[wordsintheattic]

Are you from Nepal?

Yesss :⁠-⁠)