Lost, where it is difficult to be found

I have not been writing for a very long time. Staying detached from something I so dearly love has taught me many things. First, what you do out of love is always a thing that is extraordinary. Second, when it is in your life, you should consider it as a gift and when it is not- you should set it free, so that it flies in a relentless sky from where it finds somebody else who will worship it the way you do. Thus, I hope what was my even some two days ago, is somebody else's today. Something they love, cherish and celebrate- every time they write, scribble or even contemplate.

Keeping the pen down has also taught me other things which I now believe I should have been taught much before. I have learned that no matter how much you love something, unless you dedicate yourself to improving the totality of that thing, it will never find you after the vacations. You need to invest and invest on this art, in order for it to give you total satisfaction. Just writing once in a month is not enough to satiate the hunger of the soul. It's deeper than a palate of food. It requires nourishment every other day to be truly alive and a part of your ever-growing, ever-glistening world.

I knew the aforementioned things well enough, but even then I decided to be lost. I wanted to hide my soul behind warm drapes of 'other things apart from writing.' I choose my path myself and so I was lost, from where it is always difficult to be found. Today, however, contradicting the natural laws of the universe, I have found my way back. I am back to the pushing-of-the-keyboard-keys, writing like a kid, smiling at my own sheer lack of common sense, being unable to fathom what has put me here today. Earlier, I always knew I wanted to write because I wanted to de-fragment. By writing, it was as if i solved the puzzle that is life. Today, I don't think the purpose of puzzle-solving anymore. It's something more intricate, more confusing- a thing that heart aches for, hands retire to, emotions struggle for.

Writing is a railway station- I can be anyone I want to be. It is the place that gives me most of my mental serenity. I can jump on any train. If I don't want to take a train, I can simply stand in a corner, occasionally pushed in my body by a mad crowd- large, moving, desperate for another destination and watch them change places, change time, change moments. On winter, I can even warm my numb palms before steaming cups of tea from the stalls. Giggle at jumping-frog-like children. On the tension that reigns in somebody's forehead like stretch marks. Wail with sirens. Flow like red flags before trains do. Simply enjoy time going into a different direction. Where you are happy to be lost. Happy, not to be found back to reality.