Broken no more

I woke up feeling heavy, groggy and uneasy.And I knew,this meant, that it's time for me to write.

I am not a writer per se, but I am in a way.I write only for myself.


My mind races..races like a horse..like the thoughts are in a Derby race of their own and the one that wins,is the one that comes out on paper.

Usually my thoughts are absurd,random,confusing, metaphorical... That's why they make sense.But it's a long process before the sense part actually comes in.

A process that me and my partners in crime(pencil and paper), explore for hours and hours or sometimes days together.

So just like my usual Derby days, I set out to let my winning thought take it's shape through words.

Those words that I love to scribble onto my favorite diary with my favorite pencil.

Every time I sit down to write, I spend a few seconds feeling happy about my diary..the fragrance of paper,the smoothness of the sheets and the symmetrical lines...I love it!

And then a few more seconds are gone, in looking at my favorite pencil...a blue colored pencil..smooth as ever..just broken..

Just like me...

It was a gift from someone I loved..loved too much.That someone, knew how much I loved to write..and that too with pencils.Someone with whom I had spent my evenings just doodling on paper...scribbling our names..drawing our dream house..flowers..our caricatures..
Someone..who broke my pencil in a fit of rage...and my heart..

We were in our favorite coffee shop that evening when we fought. When an innocent question,a casual discussion went out of hand.I don't even remember what happened.. Why did it happen.. All I know and remember is that he broke my pencil and my heart. 

And now,I roam around with a broken pencil in my hand and a broken heart within.

And I write..write all my broken and scattered thoughts in my diary..

I started writing..but I couldn't. It was too distracting.My mind wasn't comfortable. It kept going back to that day.. that coffee shop..and I had this urge to go there.My instincts,kicking me from within to just go.

I decided to finish up my pending work and head to my once favorite coffee shop "Yours truly".
It was evening by the time I finished work.I packed up my diary and pencil and left.

Even though, the travel to the coffee shop was just about half an hour,it felt like an eternity.
I was restless..I don't know why.

I parked my car and walked up to the cafe. It had been nearly a year since I had even seen this place.

As I stepped in,I was engulfed by the fragrance of coffee,the familiar graffiti on the walls, the music and my favorite seat.

It was automatic. I just had to walk up to it,sit,order my coffee and start my scribbling. 

After a while,my coffee came. But I hadn't scribbled.. I was blank. It was strange.

I had all these thoughts and now I just couldn't write!

I decided to leave. As I was packing up,I heard a familiar voice from behind me.

My heart raced. 

Could it be possible?

I turned around to see who was sounding so familiar. It was him.

Our eyes locked.The world around buzzed out.The Derby race in my head started again.
And then he smiled.I was puzzled. He reached into his pocket and took out something.
The other half of my favorite broken pencil.

I smiled at him..a relieved smile..extended my hand and he placed the other half of my pencil on it.

I enclosed it my palm.It felt wonderful.

And then she walked up to him.He turned away from me instantly. 

I smiled to myself.

After all,I was broken no more.

#This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.#

Popular posts from this blog

Set me free

The Unfinished Story

The art of feeling inferior