On My Mind.

 I have a confession: I am not very good at staying in touch. Some people call their friends every week. Others post heartfelt Insta stories, tag people in nostalgic throwbacks, or send long voice notes.

Me? I write things. Or draw them. Usually by accident.

You see, every now and then, something you said or did lodges itself in my head like a popcorn kernel of inspiration. A random comment, a shared joke, a fleeting moment. And days later, I’ll find myself writing a paragraph that suspiciously sounds like you. Or sketching a toon character that looks unsettlingly familiar. That’s how I communicate affection: in code.

Others reach out through calls; I do it through ways that only I understand. It is my own strange dialect of connection: one part emotion, two parts creative confusion. The kind that arrives disguised, as paragraphs in a late night draft, as passing thoughts that take shape before I can stop them.

It is not intentional, really. I don’t plan to turn people into creative by-products. It’s not that I am aloof; just artistically inefficient.

Of course, it is not the most efficient way to show people they matter. My friends have learned that a story appearing on my feed or a scribble on a napkin might secretly be about them. They have also learned that I will deny it if asked. Not because it isn’t true, but because admitting it ruins the mystery.

You may not receive a phone call from me, but you might show up in my next story as the dude who delivers the punchline or in a cartoon as a samosa snuggling up to a cup of chai.

Maybe my ways aren’t conventional, but they are heartfelt. After all, they say it’s the thought that counts, not the method. And if my thoughts could be mailed, texted, or tagged, you’d find your inbox perpetually full. But mine tends to arrive unannounced, disguised as humor, dressed in metaphors, quietly hoping you’ll recognize yourself between the lines.

It says: you’ve been on my mind.