It is in these moments I feel kind of empty, when I sit with my laptop and feed my fingers the stiff of the keys, when I have nothing to do, and no clue what to type. There is nothing going on. But I still want to write. Because I love spreading my thoughts somewhere, If not to a keen listener, then to a keen paper. And when I do, it gives me the comfort of a feeling, as if I was able to complete something unfinished. That I just completed a circle. That I am not just half. That I brim with the remaining.

It is one of those hours of the day when I am surrounded with myself. Locked up with my own thoughts, and when I talk to myself through a screen, a keyboard and a paper. I don’t get much of those. Moments alone. Probably because I am always in a company. But sometimes I would like to be alone without hurting people around me. It is not that I don’t want them, but sometimes I want me. It is hard to make people comprehend that I would like some time alone. An hour of solitude is worth an hour of creativity.

May be it is me time. When I talk to myself about how I feel. Even if the feeling reeks of naught. I want to make myself understand, probably put words in my mouth, for an imminent inking, the meaning of life. To put words to a feeling. To put words to things that are mundane and that happen anyhow without me trying. All voluntary acts that we can’t live without. From walking, to talking, to sleeping, to eating, to watching, to hearing, to shitting. Nothing changes. Nothing goes out of the line. The same old routine: to feed the hunger, to scavenge for a livelihood, then at one point populate the earth and fade away. Every single bit we do, we do for survival. That is it. Forage for the extant. Why do we do, what we do? Can’t the world just pass by us while we are lying on the bed? Oh Wait! That happens! It is called dreaming. Then again why can’t it happen when we are awake?

I wish to explore the crazy areas of my head. Where I get ideas that don’t make it. Wish to put them past the finish line. I like the stream of propositions when they go unhindered, in a flow, undeterred by anything living.

This moment I feel free. My thoughts are. I have seen people chained in their mental manacles of thoughts that are mundane, that are either dependent to a person, an outcome of an event, of a situation, of apprehension, of a popular notion, or a wasted reflection of the past. I have nothing to worry about. I wish to stay this way. Wavered by nothing. Don’t wish to create the chain reaction of worldly woes. I would like my ‘me’ time, where there is nothing to write and yet everything to say.