When I read, I fly off to unknown places. There are no people really, just characters, many of whom I like and connect with, many of whom I have despised, but then there are those I have fallen in love with. I look at them and they smile knowing that I know them, inside out, belonging to them. They know that they have my attention and have captured my soul, it has been long now. I feel freer than before knowing that they acknowledge my presence. Their gallantry and heart amazes me and I want to be like them, call them my own, represent them. I travel with them to places, breathing in the experiences alike. They are not just a fainting memory, they are much more than that. They are the ones I remember and smile myself to for having read good literature.
Have you ever flown?
Do you feel it? The way I do, the morning sun peeking through my half open window and un-ordered blue curtains. A landscape is my morning ritual. Do you feel the soggy rays falling on your dry skin, finding its space, settling. Do you feel it needing acknowledgement through your sealed eyes, you flicker and it rushes with all the warmth it sustains. Do you feel it sitting on your parched lips, open from last night's sleep. Do you see it forming beautiful messages on your body. Do you feel it befriending your slow exhausted smile. Do you feel the morning sun the way I do?
And sometimes I wonder at my forbearance to do nothing, contemplating on the time that I have wasted I'd think I haven't actually wasted any. No poems generate within my beating heart, no prose finding space within my shady brain, no inch of my open skin seek books and characters engendered are of no interest to me. Sometimes, I just want to look out of the window observing nothing, I don't crave fancy views and the only thing I really can focus on is emptiness. Sometimes, I crave it too much for it fills me with hope of abundance in future.
Sometimes, I look out of the window for nothing.
Sometimes, I feel the need to go out and stand in the cold, to face the alluding mist till exhausted it melts on my burning face, to run with the winds till they try hard enough to catch me. Sometimes, I want to behold the white picturesque in my vision and seal my eyes forever, to let the winter gush infuse in me the crimson that conceals itself from the fading world. Sometimes, I want to breathe in the callous cold till it freezes me from the inside, sometimes I want the winter to be all mine.