Today, I want to write. Just write. I wake up with a startle and my roommate looks at me. We both laugh. And then we laugh a little more. The animosity has subdued. It reminds me of the times in my past with friends when truces were made by laughing over silly things. And then it reminds me of the times, when laughing over silly things did not really mean any kind of truce. I feel the need to stop my train of thoughts, but I don’t. There is no need to stop my train of thoughts. They feed my writing, and writing means everything to me. Well, almost everything.
I want to write, and keep writing. Over the past few years, it has been a lot of inward thinking, with a lot of “I”s and “me”s and “myself”s. Life has been complex and for more than just a couple of years now. There were times, when nothing was on the page, hell lot of doodles on the margins. There were concentric circles, and screaming faces. There were times, when the diary was not so blank as the head. There was tea. There is tea. Tea kind of puts things in perspective, and makes life look simpler.
I want to write. Write with no jazzy words. Write with not a care for anything. I write elsewhere, about my experiences with products and services and people and all that crap. I write elsewhere again, about habits to inculcate, and be successful. My senior at workplace appreciates my writing, in front of everyone. He says some more things, and tells me that they can create a project for me, depending on what skills I have, to use at the work place. It makes me happy. About my writing. But this writing is not the means to my end. The means to my end is when I write, and no one cares about what I write. What skills I have. Not even me. I want to write without tags and keywords. I want to travel. Like a gypsy. And write. This is the means to my end, and also the end.
I want to write. About how I am thankful to every guy who came to my life, with some prospect of future. And every guy, who did not come to my life, with some prospect of future. Today, I have someone in my life who has finally taught me what unconditional care means. We don’t talk about love, or spell out future.
I want to write. About how I think of every episode in the past, as mellow sun rays fall on it. It makes me smile. There is nothing I regret. I could almost regret, if I want to. But I choose not to. The sun is large. It rises every day. It has enough mellow rays for my today, and tomorrow. For yours too. And for his and hers.