Recently I have found myself filling these odd pages called a blog with little, if any at all, enthusiasm. A portion of me was convinced that I should not bother with writing anymore for it is an entirely futile endeavour to reflect on that which has happened and passed. No matter what I write, words cannot change the past or the truth. It has simply been an instrument in which I wielded wilfully an imaginative power over which I cannot control yet must accept and forget. And an instrument I’m afraid no longer works into fooling myself that I had any ounce of control to begin with. Granted, it isn’t a written law that I must record my true emotions and spurs-of-the-moments in my life ever so daily on a platform where writing has become a phase, instead of a passion. But by writing an additional sentence, I get to live a second longer albeit in a reality my dysfunctional brain cooked up. This has been all that I know of, without so much as a single push. I remember I would write because I want to, and while I had no clue what brought forth that spur of creativity or need, I single-mindedly believed in it. When I examine past entries now, I see nothing but a pathetic shadow of a person who laments about her fate but does nothing to alleviate that destiny. I am more repulsed and ashamed at the fact that that person was me. As valid as these posts might have been when I was writing them, they are merely words, words that did little but accentuated my weaknesses for those who read me. The words written on these pages add only to my melancholy, a pesky state-of-mind I am fighting to shed and dismissed ownership of. I have given its due acknowledgement and it’s time I start afresh with a clean slate. When I gather enough courage, I shall erase that part of my life.

For even I am bored and irritated of my own self.

Writing was to me a form of subtle relief. I don’t know why but it rearranges certain thought processes that would otherwise reign and wreck much chaos in my brain. I do not consciously think about much of anything or people getting through the day but when the night falls and all is quiet, my brain works like an enemy to churn out as much suppressed memories as it could as if I was absolutely adamant about setting myself up against myself. Pain is indeed self-inflicting and self-fulfilling. I have tried desperate means and ways to stop myself whenever the name ‘Tara’ comes up but how does one stop her heart from answering its one true call? I do not do this voluntarily but each time I hear her name, I felt as if the last of my breath has been knocked out of me by an unseen force and I feel faint. It was either that or a new surge of anger overwhelms, its origin no longer an issue to me. I know damn well where that anger comes from but I have chosen to let it go because I also know that it will be a useless fight and I cannot be hurt anymore.

I am consciously aware of the fact that nothing and nobody in this lifetime would mean anything more outside its existence simply because it had nothing to do with Tara. The sky is blue because it’s simply what Mother Nature wants us to see. Nature took all that vibrant colours and hid them in a shade of nothing and by subtracting all known colours, she created the colour black. It has no further meaning than that of an irony. And as so in similar fashion, I do not feel the need to continue writing. My handwriting is no longer etched in love but fuelled by loss. And my life, a title to be marked on a ready grave or a loose accumulation of a dying personality.

“Hey, so what about forever?” A philosophical topic Tara casually brought up 2 am in the morning. “What about it?” I said, as I stroked her face and tucking her hair back behind her ears. “Have you thought about it?” “Well, it’s the age of technology. I’m sure if it hasn’t already been invented, it is down someone’s pipeline.” The sound of Tara’s laugh so crisp in my ears. “I say we invent it.” I furrowed my brows as if I didn’t hear her correctly. She noticed my disbelief. “It happened today.” “What happened today?” My mind was retracing the day frantically and decided it had simply been an ordinary day blissfully spent. “Honey, we ate and watched TV. And right now, I am about to kiss you goodnight because you look like you could use a good rest.” The last offer seemed to entice and delight Tara as her blue eyes sparkled. “So what are you waiting for?” She smiled me her trademark loped-sided grin and pressed her face close into my palm. I gladly obliged, cupping her face in my hands as I inched close to capture her waiting lips. “Hmm…” She moaned ever so sweetly into my ears. “Ready for sleep?” We broke for air and she let me tucked her into bed. “I’m sorry I can’t stay over tonight but I promise I’ll be the first thing you see when you open your eyes in the morning.” I kissed her on her forehead and I heard her whispered into my ears. “I found forever today, with you.” “What did I do?” I quizzed, obviously baffled. “You held my hand today while we were coming home from dinner and then we took a walk in the park and we came home, took a hot shower together,” a mischievous glint reflect in her eyes as she emphasised the word ‘hot’. “And we watched TV and now I’m tucking you to bed. Baby, I love you and I sure feel the same way but I’m not quite following you.” “I just thought, this is what I want. I could do this everyday. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you, just like that.” While what we do has clearly become a routine I am verging taking granted for, it’s worth a ton more in Tara’s head. I was so ashamed I was speechless. She put her hand on my face, her soft gaze penetrating my soul. “If I could be this content with every moment I spend with you, I’ll say this is forever.”

Yes, so I have spent forever. I read it somewhere that the Greeks do not mark their graves. They merely asked the living the deceased left behind if he/she had a passion. And so it is, perhaps writing is my passion and I will die fuelling it.

I may start writing again and if I do, it's high time I start a new page.

Let Lethe’s Bramble do its chore. Purge her mind of memories grim, of pains from recent slights and sins. When the fire goes out, when the crystal turns black, the spell will be cast. Tabula Rasa, Tabula Rasa, Tabula Rasa