Wednesday, October 10, 2012

I have saved my moments of happiness in drafts. Someday I will revisit them, edit them and post it. But will there be an audience then? Probably No. But how does it matter. Isn't it better to save them, rather then discard them or ignore them completely. Always trying to get the words right, the right sentences and the right grammar, the search is still on. Probably, there won't be a perfect moment, no perfect result. Still I search. 

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What do I do with this emptiness? How do I wash off these stains of eternal sadness which engulfs me. It has spoiled my entire canvas. I don't have another canvas, I can't afford it anymore, it is too late and I am old and tired. Find me a way to get rid of the stains. Bring me a new sunshine and a new stroke of brush. I want to paint the old story in a new way, but the story is stuck in the past. It is scared to see the dawn. It wants to get lost. I need to add new words to it but I struggle for words. The story wants a different ending and I have a different finish to the tale but still in this disagreement we still hope. I hope to paint the old story new and the story has its own aspirations. We are becoming estranged still we come back to each other, in fact, we don't run away, never did. I never tried to weave a new story, nor the story tried to seduce a new writer. So thus we stay, estranged but still bound in an invisible thread. We still call it love even if it could be something else. We are unaware. We don't even try to know, we are happy being ignorant, lost in our own world, walking up to our own dream and finding solace in them. It used to be one dream, one world. Now I see the dreams breaking into two and cracks appearing in the dream. I don't want the dream to break. I have tried all adhesives. I am still trying but no matter how much I try the crack keeps appearing time and again.

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