My terrace has always been a good companion of mine in a time of solitariness. It is as abandoned as me so we keep up good with each other. Sitting on the block as I see the watch, its 3.33 am and here I’m still wide awake and immersed in thoughts.
I have always been more inclined towards darkness. Nights has often given me some sort of freedom than days. The freedom of self-awareness while everyone is sleeping or may be the scoop of solitude, I don’t know. There is something very soothing for your anxiety when there is no one around you. You feel like you behold the place. The fluidity of the space allows the bubble of your imagination to expand while there is no one to nudge it. Though it’s not same every day, is it?
As I sit here procrastinating about everything I’ve done or will do, the silence seems to mock me. The sky seems to be craving to absorb me. The silence is poking me to speak but I am running out of words. I feel my demons are gazing over me as they always do. My inner self is screaming but nobody will hear it. This is the moment when solitude turns into the loneliness. And here I feel insulated from humans like never before.
Something is keeping me up from sleeping. I have been trying to decipher something going in my head for a while. Anybody might come to help-
After all, what is happiness? Love, they tell me. But love doesn’t bring and never has brought happiness. On the contrary, it’s a constant state of anxiety, a battlefield; it’s sleepless nights, asking ourselves all the time if we’re doing the right thing. Real love is composed of ecstasy and agony.
Is it so? If you have answers, tell me, please! So as I might be able to sleep again.
Originally published at The Window Seat. Check out the website here.