Decaying.. maybe.

The cursor blinks at the blank screen. There are no words, not anymore to scribble across it. I just wish that I, too, could be a part of it. Void. Empty. Blank, without any labels, any thoughts, anything written across me. It’s one of those moments when your insides grow hollow and whatever falls into it, visions, words, voices – they become meaningless. Dreams without much lucidity. Thoughts that seem too vague even to be considered. And you sit there, motionless, unable even to discern this inactivity. Perhaps it’s just the ‘plasma state’ of our emotions where nothing is stable, nothing concrete – everything is just a haze of…well…everything.

I have wished, at times, for such indifference. But when it does come, it isn’t a very welcome state. Even when you are not exactly aware of this decrepitude that grows upon you, there is this subtle pain that stirs within; a soft tinge of regret, of not living up to your own self. It does persist, this feeling, but you are so given to lethargy that you can’t help consciously trying to look from it.
And so, I lie on the floor, folding papers and unfolding them; tearing them to pieces and blowing them into the air. They feel like snowflakes, landing gently on the palm of my hand. And then they dissolve away.