Rain drops from my heaven

She lives in a street named "Solitude alley". She is quite a dream...I like to think, I enjoy walking alongside her. Even such a thought puts a spring in my step and makes my imagination race...

Today morning, as I was walking past Solitude alley, I caught her at the window. She had just removed the blinds and her face glowed as the rising sun met its match. She looked dressed up and ready. Next moment, perhaps, she would have turned to the mirror and fastened the last strand of unruly hair firmly behind her ears.

I continued my walk to the bus stop. The driver is a young chap. He wears his shades no matter what the weather is and he drives with such concentration that I often wonder if he is on a tightrope walk. His face lacks any expression and he saves his gaze only for the road ahead. Anyways, I am dithering from the subject....

I turned back just in case, destiny for once decided to be friends with me! To my utter disbelief, there she was, sauntering down the solitude alley...can you imagine silence whispering in your ear? If you find it difficult, perhaps, you should listen to the sound of the first rain drop that hits the ground on a pleasant summer morning. It is not loud enough to be noisy but it qualifies for a sweet whisper...I strained my ears, yes, it was beginning to drizzle.

Our dream did not have an umbrella and neither did she care. She lifted her head slowly and looked up - a movement that appeared to me choreographed to perfection. Just then, a drop caressed her eyelid. She batted her eyelashes, a gesture that can look only sensuous on her.

She began to walk briskly whilst a miracle was underway. The rain drops seemed to single her out. They were gentle on her. It became a spectacle in no time. Right in front of me, the heavens were blessing the dream.

As she stepped inside the bus shelter, the spell was broken. The heavens ceased shedding tears and the sun peeped again emerging from the thin clouds.


~AKS

Stranger Than a Fiction...

When you pick me up, my favorite songs was always playing on my music system..."Kasak". You tell me not to speak, wanting to explain what is going on. I ask for you, but you just can't.

I've always cared for you. Always loved seeing you, hearing from you, fighting with you. At the same time, however, I've hated you. Despised you more than any person I know. You made me hurt in a way that I've never experienced, you embarrassed me, you left me. To this day I cry when I think about that night when you yelled and left our relationship to the WAVES. I laid in bed during that winters, weeping for reasons I don't even know. Crying for what happened. I had never felt that before.

Getting not a single letter from you nearly ripped me to shreds. It was an apology but I cried as if the "break-up" had happened again. My letter back was full of pent up resentment, and I think back now that it may have been too much to be said in a letter. When you read it you wrecked your heart. I made you as mad as you had made me. That was the point.

Eventually winter's gone, everything starts to fade..., seeing you the other day in my dreams made me livid again. I didn't deserve to even be in the same place as you. I didn't deserve your glances, you knew that. We fought when around each other, people complained about the tension we left in the air. We didn't care. We've never cared... :)

This time last year I tried this the first time. I came to you, convinced you of the importance of our relationship and You unwillingly agreed. Soon after, everything fell apart. As I come back to you. You told me "you can't let me in." I want to. I want to be the one to hold your hand, I want to walk holding your arm and feel joy, but I can't.

I told you of what I've done this year to keep you close as we walked around the gardens at night. You know something ...that story was beautiful "me and you", the "Teddy-bear b'day Present" that you thought were from a friend, the night I came to see "The Moon"--all unnoticed. I have always been there and You had no idea.I said that I want you but you felt its just like a dream. You had no idea that you had the ability to care anymore, but you still can't let go. There is something holding you back there.. Because I know you are never like this. Whether or not... this will happen again, I don't know. Jumping in head first brought me more pain that I ever thought imaginable. I'm here to say that I am willing to eventually walk up to the shore and ease into that SEA where we left US.

Right now, however, I'm not even close to the water.

The Long Silence...

Loneliness in soul

Greetings people, or at least those of you still remaining after my long silence. I have found it absolutely impossible to write lately. I had done a lot of thinking (and some writing) earlier on the subject of loneliness and creativity, but I’ve never experienced anything like this. I stare at a page and the words don’t come. I think about blogging and my mind goes blank. I try to do research for Book The Second and my brain just fizzles.

Never before have I had such trouble getting thoughts done on paper (or on the screen). I think this has a lot to do with post-separation isolation.

On top of everything else I was facing — the separation agreement, the chaos around the house, the goodbyes to all the pets — at the back of my mind I thought, “I’m not going to be able to write.”

That was three months ago, and I’ve barely written a word since. I can journal, which is a relief and a blessing, but I can’t think about publishing anything. Publishing feels so exposed, so risky, so…public...but i know eventually i have to do it...whatsoever.!!

If I had any doubts about the relationship between loneliness and creativity, they are over. It is hard (impossible?) to be creative when intensely lonely. I can read, and I can journal, but I just can’t write. I know what the problem is: I need a sense of emotional security in order to feel creative, and I just don’t have that right now. I feel vulnerable and insecure, and those feelings choke out anything that might be interesting, fruitful or new.

I am, however, going to make a renewed pledge to blog. A blog is a nice mid-point between a diary and a published piece of writing. I figure if I can blog at least once a week, that is a sign of some progress, and I think I have to be measuring progress in very small steps right now.

So please stay tuned…more manuscripts to follow as I try to work my way through ...through isolation and towards (hopefully) the ability to write once more.