I am sleepy..
It's not that there's been any paucity of things doing rounds in my head. But for sure, there's been a dearth of desire - the working-myself-up-to-some-passion desire. I read and muse for that. Listen to music too. Go for walks. Write. But it's not happening. Perhaps something awaits round the corner.
Would you believe I long for a break? Yea, even from here, from this year long hiatus. I wish to go home but don't wish to stay there. I think I have moved on in some ways. The umbilical chord has been cut - isn't that what I wanted? Yes..yet every drift needs a home, every cascade a flow...
I am reading The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro these nights - gifted to me by someone I wouldn't dare call a friend (for he snubs at that, he might flinch at his mention too, but when do I listen? ;)). The book is a nice read definitely, but I feel I'm missing something. Perhaps it will all come around once I'm done with it, which shouldn't take long.
After a long time I am writing happily oblivious of who reads. Not that it's always on my mind, but of late I was beginning to be reticent and quite cryptic, you'd agree. I wish I would go on without realising this for some more time for then I would again get cautious. I wish the fingers would continue to tap the keys..making the sound I like best in the world... the sound of typing..isn't it delicious? I wouldn't even dare go about suggesting to me the sound of typewriters..downright sexy. May be cz words are being formed.. the faster the more, the faster the better, the faster the thought. Onomatopoeia for that anyone?
...Anddddd there goes my own flow.."SNAP!" :) I could almost hear it break.
