Back in randomness

I forgot why I used to write. I dont know where the motivation came from, who read it or what some of my posts even meant. I tried to remember. I vividly understand the surge in heartbeat when I wrote an article. Those non flickering anticipation that each word gave.

What happened to old me ?

What happened to my happiness?

I just saw that the blog was more than a decade old. This means, there are pages of desperation, inspiration and flow of emotions for 10 long years. My each writing would reflect my mood of the day.

Where did my power to dream go? Why am I accepting everything on way now?

Currently, I am a wreck. I am not happy, grateful or sincere. I am lost, devastated and nothing is clear to me. Things I believed in are now forgotten. I live in delusion of black tar. I am suffocating in it, and I cant see.

Would you believe if I told you I have been questioning everyone's happiness?

What makes people happy ?

I dont know. I dont know as much as I dont know what to do with myself. I am too egoistic to delve deeper, and ask the right questions. And I am too proud to talk to anyone.

That was when I realized why I wrote.

Was it my heart speaking?

It has always been easier to write. Like in a diary. I could have never been able to win a speech , but I could write. I have always been able to explain pain as much as I could experience it. It was easier, like breathing.

I am sure it didnt make sense to lot of people, but to me, it did. I knew what I was going through with each sentence.

Maybe, I should write more. Only my sister has been pushing me to write more. I should do it.

I never believed in my writing. It was just a farce. A joke.

But now, to save myself, I need to write. And believe in it.

Midnight shadow

She made a quick noiseless move and I sensed it right behind my spine. The silence that wrapped us was the savior of the moment but she chased him away.

“Are you writing again?”

I lingered on to my savior

“Hmm..that means you are thinking deep. It is not good for you to do that often.”

Bloody. She knew me.

“Anyway, looks like many like your writing. But do they know the reason for those masterpieces?”

“They are not masterpieces! Just amateur writing”, I gritted through my teeth. Temper erupted.

“Ahhhh..you love appreciation, don’t you?”, she asked in normal tone.

To me, it was a jeer.

“Everyone does”, I replied curtly.

“You want to be better than her. That could be a reason too. Feels like a loser?”, she whispered in my ears.

I didn’t reply. It was not true.

“Not everyone is gifted. You are just trying too hard. And all this is not going to bring him back”, she hissed in my ears again.

“Who?” , I asked in a meek voice. I knew the answer. I never confess.

“You can cheat the world, my girl, anyone, but not me. You can act like nothing happened but I know all the moments you cried.”, she said in a voice that brought back the memories.

I concentrated on the words I wrote. There were too many mistakes, just like in my life. The mistakes I never acknowledged. Mistakes that had happened because I didn’t think. Or maybe I thought too much.

“How do you know? What does it mean to you?”, I snarled.

She laughed. It trailed through my ears and seemed like life long.

“You are so vulnerable. You have nothing that is yours; love, money or even talent”, she laughed louder.

I stared at the words. They were crawling all over the place. The echoes of misery lashed everywhere.

Trrrriiiiinnngg

“Hello? Subha?”, I heard a familiar voice.

“Hey Srini!”

“What are you doing?”

“Hmmm..nothing. Was thinking what to write. What are you doing?”

She disappeared from the place and went into my head again. I shut her again; from myself.