I will write for I believe that I can hide you, the way you have wanted me to sometimes. I believe that one day I would make you breathe in my words and let them flow in your blood and then may be you will learn of the silence that lurks in the pages of my diary. I will write not just for myself but for you as well, for us, for our tomorrow that would someday like to flip through the pages of our yesterday. Our conversations, the intricacies of our mundane lives, our words that somehow don't make it to our lips but escape into thin air and linger in the room along with the smell of our bodies. I will write for those deep,dark nights after those long weary days,the hurriedly flipped pages of the magazines, our wishes strangled by the EMIs and monthly expense lists, for our closed eyes, sewn lips,shivering tongues and limp bodies. I will write for the times that have threatened to slowly walk into the arms of the days that wish to be forgotten.
I look into the mirror and find the white strands of hair standing out with the incivility of the mirror an ageing man. Something scares me then, the feeling of desolation, of abandonment, of being left behind by everything and everyone rushing along with the ticking clock. What am I going to leave behind?Not for others but myself, something that I would come back to once I grow old. Or may be you would like to come with me, ask me if I had saved something from the past that we could savour together, something sweet or bitter. What will I return to when there will be no more going ahead but looking back every now and then to feel alive?
And then I decide that I will write.
And then I decide that I will write.
