There is an empty feeling. A steel mug with a few coins in it. A faceless "have you seen her?" poster. A defunct ticket to anywhere. A picture book of old ghosts in its moth-eaten and fading pages. It is a complete portrait that has no buyers.
September is slowly being elbowed out of the calendar by an obstinate October which paints the omnipresent restlessness with a fresh coat of sniffles and new flowers that refuse to wither away in accordance with the natural longevity bestowed on them. The desolation of lovely winter days are fast taking over. The decay has already set into mornings, nights are more resistant but does not look as if it too will hold out for long. The strength of the mist shall prevail. Obscurity is a blessing where lucidity cuts into the skin like shards of broken glass on its way to a vulnerable mind.
Familiar and strange are two pups taken out for walks daily by their owner -- the old man perception. Both bark at you with the same level of ferocity and engrossed curiosity to see if it startles you the same every time. It does and mind you, it is not funny. I have a weakness for strange, it being the underdog I am more generous with my compassion towards it. Later, even as a converted familiar, it still the same. Can't help wondering why?
Wish I could write about a million other things that might, for a change, excite or enlighten you. But I am taking the same path on the beach everyday, walking over the same footsteps that I left there the day before, which have been washed away by the tides overnight. It is a futile attempt at trying to engrave these footprints in the sand, to find a bit of permanence and maybe even an odd sense of belonging even to these loose bits of soil stuck together by the moisture of emotions that the morning sun shall take away.
No new words shall be written here since they represent moments and moments like waves do not stay, they move away and then come back to caress you once in a while, only to go back again. It is unfair to ask a wave to stay. Permanence is an impossibility that underscores everything. You too can go away, for there will never be anything new here.
So much time gets lost in my mind
But I know now what I must rely on
It's a sound and forgetting, ain't the worst thing - Concrete Skies by Beth Orton.