An Inane Attempt
It’s hard to recollect the last time I sat and wrote something, anything here. My relationship with words has been that of penning down my experiences, hoping they’ll outlive me. And while with every passing day, my respect for words increases, my connection with them seems to be coming to a pause. Pause, because I still play around with them in my head and it suffices to keep our bond alive.
On the contrary, I have this dipping feeling that dragged me to the keyboard and made me write about it. And it’s especially hard today because I broke my spectacles, the spare one. Yet, it hasn’t stopped me from gibbering. It hit me how writing pure gibberish too, has the potential to soothe me. It’s not that I’ve hit a writer’s block. It’s just that I’ve stopped flowing with ideas to write about until I’ve made total sense out of it. Seems fair to me given half information hasn’t done anybody any good.
Evidently, I’m running out of words. That’s not to say I will end this futile post anytime soon. Which got me thinking — do words really need to hold value if they are said out loud or penned down in some absurd article? Given the world’s fucked up conditions, I guess not. Either way, I think I’ve found a way to end this post.
I promise not to write a similar one ever again. Because as Uncle Ben said,“With great power, comes great responsibility.” And as a certified adult, I’ve taken it upon myself to not add to the existing garbage. You know, doing the world a favour while I can.
PS. Underlying life advice — If you break your spectacles, don’t write. Your blurry vision might blur the words.
