Not all of a sudden, neither a planned effort it was and it had to be. It became either one when I came and sat down to write this idea of a thought. This, as minutely is been observed, has to be something no less than an idea that made me who am I because I am eagerly looking forward to what I can become. I let the words be the forebearer of this future.
I came, I saw and I conquered. It definitely has to be a question rather than a statement because inside me is the undying query of “Why Me”? If I be blunt, I became what I always wanted to be and to be even more blunt, I feel the need to tell them the ways of this world. I continue to realise that they aren’t here anymore for once they were and the words flowed. Matter of fact, I don’t want them too. They were as hurtful as they could be and I still feel the bruises years after they have gone. Matter of fact, the words do flow even now and that’s a blessing. But the need to tell them once, only once, persists.
I follow nothing, I am a product of nothing, and I seem to writing without a purpose. Does it have to be purpose? Oh, well we are practical people now and fiction hates me more than ever. If you ask, life is a hateful fiction already. There are no characters, there is no story, there’s no beginning, middle and end. In fact, in my own story, I’m not there. There has been an exit to this long ago when we learnt that nothing is enough. Well, now I realise Enough is nothing. Am I being pessimistic? No. I’m trying a way out of a colossal fall. This means I’m more optimistic than I ever was.
Tell me, from the bottom of your heart, how vague your world is. Tell me if that’s just an interpretation or if it definitely is what you think it is. There’s music in your ears but you’re at a place where it’s quiet. There’s something you created long ago but it’s already dusted not because people deserted it but because you did. You didn’t want to pick it for another day with you because it didn’t yield anything back to you. You feel like how beautiful it already is just because you chanced upon to look at it incidentally. Your coming here is already circumstantial enough and now, you feel it shouldn’t have been because it was already your work that you should have carried it every day anyway.
I feel lost in the world and words and someone like you directs my attention to something important. Would you lend a helping hand? Where are you so that I make the effort to come to you?
