There are things that I have been meaning to do since some time now. Things which are not the normal, ordinary, day-to-day stuff we do. They are ordinary, but they are not something I would put down in my to-do list and then tick off the items one by one with some sense of achievement. I need solitude, I need a sense of space to do them.
I want to cry. To weep bitterly (I am not sure why it has to be bitter - but the word that comes to my mind every time I think about it is this), to let the imprisoned tears be finally free - let them escape and through them somehow find my own sense of relief, of freedom. Free myself of this choking feeling, free myself of this burden which I feel I have been carrying around since forever. I have no apparent reason to cry but since when have tears asked for a reason? The agony of tears is a secret they guard well.
I wish I could say that one word which I can no longer say. I want to say it softly, reverently. To quietly scream it so my soul can break into a million scattered pieces - or perhaps its already broken and it may finally patch itself up. (I cringe every time I think of this soul-breaking crap - its too dramatic, too cliche. But it somehow feels right). Its strange how much power a mere word can hold over oneself. I still cannot comprehend why the fact that I cannot speak out this word annoys me so. Its like those thorns embedded in my skin. They are insignificant, small, pesky little things. They ought to be incapable of affecting me in any way whatsoever. And yet they hurt - a dot of pain which has to be removed. But still I wonder, will actually speaking out the word help?
And now that I have some time, some space, tears have betrayed me and the word has gone back to sleep. Ironies of life.