And then there are days which I expect to be good, because, well I am mostly an optimistic person in some sense or other. But once in a few weeks, without invitation, there happens one small thing which hits at a place, that makes it so hard for me to recover that all I want to do is grab on to that one thing which I love the most, that one thing which is like my big ice-cream bucket.
I bleed. And I bleed blue. In my little notebook. My best friend. I used to do it often, but as I have grown up, the frequency has sort of exchanged itself with intensity. I need it then. To pull my legs close to my chest, curl up and to let it out. To bring out that chain of thoughts that tugged at my heart, breaking free the ocean of emotions.
I use music and words to explain the unexplainable. Music gives the rhythm and words the flow to try and tell myself that there is no right or wrong, no left and centre of the situation, it is just a feeling and I have felt it in my own unique way, coz after all I am simply a human. A beating heart.
There are times, when life seems like a dead end. A long day, and in the end, it just does not feel enough to feel alive. And my humble notebook silently listens to all my cribbing and complaints about life. In one tone. In the aggressive handwriting. In that rush to say everything at once. When I am done, it still remains equally peaceful, somehow magically absorbing all the negativity I had in my head.
There is a reason I love this little thing. It has meticulously held all such lows and highs, making me realize that indeed, the journey has been a mix variety of such curves. My journey. My story.