I have no idea what to write. Or even, where to start… Uff!
Writing has abandoned me, it seems. I feel lost, and the more I think about it, the more indifferent I become. Maybe, and just maybe, I should stop thinking and start writing. About what? I don’t know, writing about writing, maybe?
The clueless hands rise to pick the old fountain pen and bleed some ink from the pot. Instantly, it comes alive, with a dribble on the table. The blue diary, which my ex-lover had gifted once-upon-a-time, has been a quiet, shy stranger — just like them. Not tonight, though. Tonight, I hold it with both hands and flip through the years of memories in a matter of seconds. They mock me; I mock them back; and we are even.
It has been long. The last time I put a pen on paper, I was a poor man who, fortunately, could not afford a computer. Computers are not something I could love. My relationship with them — perhaps more like a marriage — is a relationship of convenience. However, with pen and paper? I am trying to find the right adjectives to describe them, but I am failing, yet again. Words! O words! come back, will you? I smell the diary while I say these words. Sigh! For some strange reason, it feels good. Maybe it’s the memories. Maybe it’s the idea of writing, or writing about writing.
I hold the pen gently to make it crawl on the paper. Left to right, first — it goes smoothly, kissing the paper and leaving its impressions there. Then right to left, quickly, in the air. Somehow, these two — pen and paper — remind me of a man and woman. One walking next to the other, trying to seduce, while the other quietly witnessing the act in amusement. Wait… I think my hands are enjoying the movement — and it just makes me smile.
I have started to realise that writing is also a craft — mostly a craft. The joy of writing comes, not only from the expression, but also from the construction. End is important for the reader, and the process for the writer. Ah, the joy of writing! I think I can experience it. It’s like singing a song. Or floating like a bird. The hands do not want to stop. So, I won’t let them. You may close your eyes now… because it’s time to reveal some secrets.
Kalampedia 