It's overwhelming how a child-like inhibition stops me right
now. Even though it merely involves a tap and a click of the mouse.
Rediscovered a friend after ages out of the blue. She is my first memory of a
best friend. The one with whom you share that big pound of secret 'you'. But
time fools us all. She left; while I stuck around.
While I write now, I realize
that I have become my own mental block. I am not only not ready to accept
change, I live in a ferocious fear of it. I probably don't need to invite her
back to the folds of my being anymore. I am content in the memories of a long
dead friendship. But what causes me unease is the terror of what I may discover
if I befriend her virtually. My collection of an idea of perfection has become
so contorted that a challenge to a mere strand of it might make my mind
unravel.
Weak is what defines me now. To think I childishly feed myself with
the complexities of the world still. Literature has become my myth now where my
mind unravels into the depths of distortion.
