I put on my tennis shoes. Slowly and deliberately. I picked up the key and the lock, pulled on the jacket and stepped out. The chill in the air hit me the minute I opened the door and instinctively I tugged the jacket closer. The key turned twice and the door was locked. Running down the stairs I recalled how I suffered from this inability to walk up or down stairs. I always skipped a step, running up or down the stairs. I don’t recall any particular moment in the past from where to source this anomaly from. Nor could I associate any deep seated memory, the kind that explains strange fears we all have.

I was outside the building by the time these thoughts finished their journey through my head and the throbbing resumed. It matched the rhythm with which I walked. Matching me step for step. There was nobody outside at this time; which wasn’t something that was odd I thought to myself. The trees were half naked, the winter air having stripped them. And the sound of the dry leaves crumpling under my feet as I walked seemed to be deafeningly loud. It was an extremely quiet dawn and my even though I had not slept the entire night I was keenly aware of everything around me. She hadn’t called nor messaged; in fact, there wasn’t any dramatic ending or any perceivable ending at all. It had all just melted away with the distance and time that had grown healthily like all unwanted things always do. I needed my walk; it’s what I did when something troubled me. I walked fast trying to outpace the throbbing in my head.

"Sail on Silver Girl,
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way

See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind"

- S & G

The song plays slowly, while I sit in my balcony harmonica in hand.

It was a long time back, a time that seems lost now, that I'd told you this was my most favourite thing. Sitting here like this, trying to pick lost memories in the dead of the night.

At the risk of sounding repetitive:

"I have begun to long for you,
I who have no greed;
I have begun to ask for you,
I who have no need."

Spent the day learning the Elven script (Quenya style). Stumbled through random poetry sites and discovered a new poet I'm beginning to like. All this in the middle of exams. What will ever become of me, I wonder.

Sample this:

In Praise of Self-deprecation

The buzzard has nothing to fault himself with.
Scruples are alien to the black panther.
Piranhas do not doubt the rightness of their actions.
The rattlesnake approves of himself without reservations.

The self-critical jackal does not exist.
The locust, alligator, trichina, horsefly
live as they live and are glad of it.

The killer-whale's heart weighs one hundred kilos
but in other respects is light.

There is nothing more animal-like
than a clear conscience
on the third planet of the Sun.
- Wistawa Szymborska