The world has become a much smaller place now. With nothing much to do except drag the corpse from room to class and class to room. With catching the bus at the odd weekend and heading back to my refuge, my haven, my love. Aah love, it is but a very weird and yet fascinating thing. To believe in it is something that I found much harder than believeing in ghosts. It is there around us and yet we fail to see it, feel it and give it.
Rohit Bhat, a Koshur comrade had once told me, one can't write when he is in love and I dont know whether I have believed it or I have taken it as an excuse but either ways, love has been the cause for my turbulent pause. The violin shall play one day, maybe on my wedding or on my boy's first recital or on my funeral... it shall play.
The pen does not wish to write, it wishes to splatter its ink and paint the town red. I leave you at peace today and come back when this heart will be content or shall be broken but for now I am incomplete and so is my blog.
Goodnight and Godspeed