Calm

It was Saturday night and the blogger felt that he had failed.Failed in all that matters. In a fit of compulsion – for to blog you must have, at the very least, an ounce of compulsion – he wrote the line “What else is there to write?”, knowing not the answer nor hoping for one. Yet during his sleep he dreamed. And it was a dream most mysterious, the kind which does not snugly fit into an explanation leaving you to ponder about it for days. He savoured the gift and while playing it again and again in his mind he wrote about that, and filled the void that plagued him the previous night. It was a sunny balmy Sunday and things somehow looked a bit better. And he left it at that, for now.

~ by The Passenger on October 28, 2007.