Monday, January 23

Smoke: A chapter preview.

Hello Folks! Off lately, I've been kind of preoccupied. In a way porcupine(d). Anyway, bad jokes apart. It's been some months since I have written anything at all. Lets see what all have you guys missed out. My travel, my remnants, a few ramblings, a delusion. In short, you, my dear audience haven't missed a thing! Currently I'm still too busy to give my best work as of now. But I know what's it gonna be like. Here's a glimpse of it:-
Smoke. The deep vapour. Light and heavy. Inside and out. Something like myself. Smoke. I remember seeing you in November, diffused in the mist, playing hide and seek. I remember you, clear as I remembered myself this morning. Smoke. Part of you lies in my veins. Mingled with my tension. Smoke. Part of you is in my head. Covering my mind; a cloud of delusion. My blanket of comfort. Smoke. Save me the winter that never seems to end, I've been here all along. Fighting my way in and out of emotions. Sometimes, there's an occasional knock on the door, and yet I don't care to answer. After all, there's nobody home.

Once they all lined up to see me. Smoke. The cruisers back in my hey day were more likely to be the ones dropping me home than the occasional walk. I remember as a child, once I felt light when my parents would toss me in the air only to catch me again. Guess I've been high ever since. Smoke. My head always feels twice it's size if I go out without you. But I swear, that I'm glad it feels like something at all.

Once I met a man who would want that happy news that I never gave. I guess I've got my set of things to regret. But, hey! Didn't they all want a happy news? Smoke. They still do, you know. But I'd choose better than to stick around. In my country home, the roads are more welcoming than in that bustling beast of a city life. Fast lanes are not for me. I realised that years ago.

It's always about mean reds, bad hair days, some people you meet (most of which you forget), and yet the rants of seclusion continue. Non je ne regrette rien. No, no regrets. Just smoke.

You burn out now. Smoke. Faster than myself. Heavier than what I can ever be. Smelling like who you are. Fire. And out of my window. This streamline of thought. And I burn in you all that I have got. Smoke. Smoke rising from the remains of the diaries I've written, from the life I led, from the person I was, from the one I run away, from the questions I refuse to answer, from pictures of old flames (now enveloped with flames), from... Smoke.

He did say,
"Happiness is a thing of a past, and a hope of tomorrow."
And after I've killed my own past, it's the high that rises higher than the smoke itself.

And who thought that you need a cigarette to smoke?

And such is the streamline of thought. No, I'm not doing a female version of Ulysses. Things like that are best respected unrepeated. Do rate and comment. Till then,

PEACE! ~_^

1 comment:

  1. This is Great!!! Someday you'll write something the common man...I am sure.



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