Soak Myself Dry

Its just one of those days, when I write and I delete, I write, I delete.

Write.Delete.

Delete. Write.

Cycle continues.

Words seems so mediocre.

I thought of ways.

I thought of things.

I thought of movies.

I thought of books.

I thought of music.

I thought of quotes.

I thought of this.

I thought of that.

And every other thing I came up with,only seems to be going downhill.

And the task to write,

Something meaningful.

Somethin eloquent.

Something satiating.

Something heart melting.

Seems to be going uphill.

My alter ego shouted 

"Really man! Like really.Do you write to win someone. Do you think,writing your feelings in thousand different ways, will make any change. Do you really think so?

Do you think you will achieve an equinox, between the optimism your dreams and pessimism of her reality, by mere pouring your heart here. If you think so, I reckon you should think again."

I replied

"Maybe or maybe not. Maybe all my labor will bite the dust. Sometimes I do write with a connotation in the privacy of conscience that, it will melt her.I know that's a far fetched exaggeration, that's a dreamy dream. But mainly I write to drain myself of her. I want to write it off, all of her that I contains. I want to pour it all of her here, and soak myself dry."

Alter ego interrupted "How much of her do you contain?"

And truth be told I don't know. 

I don't know how much of her I contains.

And I doubt I will ever be able to soak myself dry of her.

It's been half a decade.

Yes five bloody years!

And to my dismay nothing much has changed.

My unconditional love.

Her unconditional indifference.

Nothing.

Nothing has changed.

Except for the clanders.

Endings

I have a story of my own to tell. 

I look for the endings first. Endings where boogie man blew magic sand and we all started dancing. Cookies arrived on unicorns and dolls and candies rained from up above the blood red sky. Trees swam and water cried big purple tears. Birds painted my walls and my walls walked away next morning. I married a planet and worms played at the orchestra. It was all but a colorful decay.

But endings with colours and sunshine filled in them aren't endings. There lies a valley somewhere, a crack, a trench. Waiting for you, like a monster behind a bush. Happiness - I envy the word for the wonderful meaning it has been allotted.

Its too bright. The happiness everybody is swimming in is too bright. I coil up in bed, draw the curtains and paint my own thoughts bright, connect stars and spell names I'd want to name my kids after.

This is it. So, are you still listening to me?