[Today, I stray from the usual book/literature-related post as my thoughts wander. I hope you don’t mind me sharing a little of my writing here]
I walk beneath the evening sky without a destination. I let my legs take me to wherever as my mind, in its habit wander in the forest of words. In each step, I find a lump in my throat, as the familiar sound of a word being born echoes through my mind. Each words, drawn out from the shadows, coming into the light and forming tiny dots and lines. Each dot and line draw out a map of you, at times as distinct from myself as your physical body. On other times, entwined in the shapes of my own soul. As my legs walk further into the damp evening roads, so does my mind filling in every crevice with you–in the rain-laden leaves, in the starless skies, in the cracks on the pavement, even in the obtuse angles of my own yearning. My mind, now full, with words that roll off my quiet tongue like syrup finds itself grasping a spineless illusion. My legs stop. It stops in the darkness as rain soaks through every inch of my still body. In familiar sadness, my body freezes knowing without paper or pen these words will disappear into the night and once again, the oppressive loneliness will take over. For you are nothing more than the words that fill my mind in evening walks.