Somedays I stare at a blank sheet, thinking about what I would like to put into words. There are so many things to talk about. So many stories that I have been a part of. Stories that I had started. Stories that I saw zipping past me. Now when I look at the vapours rising out if my coffee at an obsolete corner of the mountains, I wonder at the elusive concept of love. What is it exactly? Is it the anguish in an unfinished letter jotted stealthily, while waiting at a roadside cafe. Or is it the restlessness on a moonlit evening? Crammed in an overstuffed balcony. What if, it is like searching for a familiar face in a crowded hall. Is it that vague reminder of a forgotten song. The shuffle of stolen feet on a street littered with dried leaves. The whiff of air on a balmy beach. Is it knowing that there is another remembering your scent while flipping through the pages of a new edition. You know, there are forms of loving and leaving. And yet there is just one to stay. Stay put in a mind while the world labors in motions of entries and exits. Loving and leaving are like those solitary walks on an obscure sundowner. Saturated with questions but fulfilled in pauses.
No comments:
Post a Comment