Dance Me To The End of Love

Walking to college at 6am when the sun is just about to break through the horizon and the city is moments from waking up, I feel like the lady Cardiff, she is mine and mine alone. The skies are soft ashen violet, freshly fallen rain blankets the empty streets, and the unborn dawn begins to blush with a sort of trandescent promise so delicate that I’m afraid my mere recognition might scare it away. It’s a ticklish sense of happiness, one that comes in the form of hushed whispers and suppressed giggles, it’s an inner joy that shows only through the half-upturned corners of this smiling, smiling song.

Before I end this post, I need to indulge my Sartorialist proclivities and show you this picture displaying a triumph in androgyny rivalling that of David Bowie’s. Behold: hair perfectly coiffed, skin flawlessly porcelein, collar of crisp white shirt popped, pin-stripped trousers hiked up to an inhuman waist level and suspended, massive black leather tote, tinted tear-drop sunglasses, and a mastery of the standoffish stride of self-importance so commanding that it granted this (wo)man the power to confidently cross the street mid-traffic while cars screeched to a sudden halt and passbyers stood gazing fear-striken in horror.

Newton's first law - "Objects keep on doing what they're doing"

Once upon a time, I used to love blogging. When I would have a thousand ideas brimming in my head waiting to find a life on paper - when I wrote because I couldn’t not. When I checked my blog everyday without fail, often along with my morning coffee. When everyday I found something new to write or post about.

And then thoughts that were not strictly useful for getting things done were pushed away from my mind, to make way for the practical and tangible. I almost abandoned my blog. Which, I know, is very pathetic.

Now I want it back. I want to have a few thousand ideas in my head. I want to feel the urge to write. The excitement when a piece you just finished writing turned out to be much better than what you had imagined about it in your head. The total and complete, and almost therapeutic, sense of freedom when a nagging thought has been broken down and analysed and penned down, and finally laid to rest.

But somehow I seem to have lost it. And now its summer, people are on holiday, life is more happy, I do have time and guess what! I just cant seem to write. When you don’t do something for sometime, you just sort of lose it. So, if you are a regular blogger out there, don’t stop - even if you feel like your world is collapsing around you and you barely have time to breathe, let alone the grocery shopping and the laundry and the umpteen boring things that makes life go on in a socially acceptable fashion - even then you should continue. Or you will be a victim of inertia, just like me. When you write, you cant stop and when you stop, you can’t start - who else can you blame but good old Newton, with the apple on his head.

I will write, even when I have nothing to write. And soon I will have something to write. And then I will be back to a thousand ideas in my head again! If you have any brilliant or not-so-brilliant ideas to get out this rut, I am all ears! For now, I keep my fingers crossed!