I had wanted to start writing one hour earlier or maybe two hours earlier than this hour.
But I didn't.
These minor delays of mine have started taking the shape of an unavoidable habit.
Since my mind is a wanderer, it is only natural for my thoughts to keep wandering.
The only problem is; the distance keeps widening between my thoughts and my writing.
At times I am asked, why am I taking so much time to write something new?
The question sounds so personal and heavy with expectations too.
But I don't have a specific answer to that.
At times I ask myself, do my words become my thoughts or my thoughts become my words?
Once again I don't have a specific answer to that.
Does that mean that I have stopped seeking answers to questions?
These questions are sometimes asked by my friends, well-wishers, readers (very few), fans (invisible or just my hallucination), admirers (numbers keep thinning) and strangers (they seem to be the ones who keep high expectations).
Honestly speaking... I miss my writing too.
I don't write till I feel like writing.
I don't read till I feel like reading.
The numbers of books keep swelling in my library.
The stock of my stationary keeps mounting.
But when will I write next and what am I writing next seem like permanent questions.
Someday I might seriously try seeking answers or answering the many questions of others.
Till then, on a humble note... I shall take your leave till I write to you next.
- Virtuous Vociferous
January: Blog #1/ January 13-2021/ 01:23 AM/ Location: Happy desk at home
