"In writing, habit seems to be a much stronger force than either willpower or inspiration."
Basking in the cold of the winter, sweetened by the warmth of morning sun- home is too far. There is an unattended pile of things to do; books to read, groceries to be bought, classes to be joined, places to be seen, friends to be called, family to be seen. Home is too far.
Reminiscence is a part of the day to day chores.
The smell of the roasting masalas. The pug marks on the edge of the bed. The little munchkin's chatter. Dad's bed-time tucks, just, making sure everyone got in okay. Mom's stories.
Mindfulness, absentmindedly, clinging onto home. But home is too far.
|Life in letters.|
Change happens in little sniffles through the curtain of dawn.
I'm abandoning and losing the idea of writing the 500 pages. Trying for that one page each day. At the finish of it, in the end, it's always a surprise.