(unable to) foundation

I think i've always loved to write, trouble is I can not get out more than a paragraph. My entire being, the fluid of my brain put onto paper never covers more than a few lines. I have many a time started with great inspiration and ended in my writing on the same page. But this time I think I have a story that can carry on because it concerns not me, not my ideas; infact I wonder why at all it turns out to be me telling you this story. Probably because I am the only one who is still here.

I love songs by Eric Clapton and so did Nishit. Well he also liked 'trying' to play Eric Clapton songs on guitar, I don't. It was not long that Nishit was into guitar and stuff. While he had roamed his gigantic house he was content with small talk with friends and

I only hope I can start of with my story before you get bored of this text; the proper art to weave a directionless plethora of strange lives into a methodical, serialized piece of prose evades me. It’s disturbing sometimes how the appearance of a person changes after you get to know him. People tend to change from being ‘that cool guy’ into ‘a bugger’ at such rapid pace that you suddenly find yourself trapped within the echoes of their constant annoying murmur. friends even before the sound of their constant illogical murmur fills up Sometimes but, the opposite is true