It’s funny. When I was totally lost and had that violent desire to write, I couldn’t squeeze out ten minutes to do it. I was too occupied by other writings. Now that I have plenty of time in hand, nothing comes out of my fingertips.
Said to a friend: I think I’ve lost my carefree spirit. For ever. It’s a good day to die. And a good price to pay. Everybody should grow up. I have been able to preserve that child in my heart for too long. Twenty seven years.
It’s not that I am not vulnerable. It’s just that I heal quickly, and I have the ability of putting the wound in quarantine so that it doesn’t affect other aspects of my life. Every time I felt sad, I could save it for midnight and went on with life as if nothing had happened.
I am still able to work normally during daytime, but there is always a hint of that sadness lurking around the corner, ready to appear and smile at me. And I smile back, as if meeting an old friend. When you cannot stop it from coming, the best thing to do is smile. And, surprisingly, by exchanging a smile with it, you feel as if your senses are extended to newer, deeper, and wilder sadnesses. Sadnesses of this world.
It feels real bad being appreciated by everybody but one. It has always been like that until the fish came. Well, not that the other ones didn’t appreciate me at all. Some did. But just a single side of me or a side they thought that was mine. This little fish, it appreciates me as a whole. As I am. “Will you take me as I am?”, Joni once asked, anxiously. I, fortunately, didn’t have to.
I wish I had a river so long.