How many one liners have you erased before you were satisfied with this draft?
We have lost count.
And how many times have you thought of returning, only to fall back at the last minute?
Since the 27th. Two months, after you have gone away.
Truth is, we have nothing here to look at, but derelicts of a forgotten age. A time, when we glorified our achievements with unsung artistry, even when our pockets stayed deep and empty. And yes, we still long for those days, when we squeezed work between lives; when we celebrated long walks with soulful musings; when we were, clandestine writers of events, vowing never to breathe a word that such space - this realm - exists.
Then, silence begins to engulf our thoughts for there was nothing really to pen anymore.
Because we would rather keep the stories to ourselves than waste hours crafting the perfect narratives for this self-indulgent exercise.
Besides, other mediums of expression abound. 200 characters, and we're done sharing stories.
But we are, creatures of habit and we have long accepted that writing is a lifelong, personal pursuit. And it leaves a strange scar in the chest knowing we have given up our craft for monetary gains; that we had so many unfinished stories left abandoned in life and in texts that will see no end.
For we hardly distinguished one from the other.
And so, we return to this blog to reclaim the lives we had lost; to tell the unsaid events of the last two months; and pen the endings of some tales we have already weaved in memory. There maybe no certainties in our presence this time. But at least, we made attempts at reconnecting.
This is Mugen, writing back, and these are my stories.