When I wanted to write |
My body feels a kind of pain when I do not write as if it's the only thing left in my life. I do not have a pen with me right now. But even its presence does not make any difference. It’s a moonlit night when I am searching for my pen to write. I love moonlit nights when my passion of writing is at its peak, where a little of paper surface appears to my eyes. But then no superpower can detect dark in dark, like as I would have to detect dark blue ink in silver moonlight, so I would need an element that could add, to text, some silver light thus making it able to read and write in the absence of sunlight. With its lustre I’d be able to select the right area of a paper to initiate opening sentence in my mind without any care, leaving it free to catch its own direction taking me along wherever it goes. As soon as I’d put pen to paper it would shine with its silver light not upsetting my moonlit night preserving silvery thoughts in my mind. I wrote silver because I have been thinking of stealing some handful of silver shine of moon. I’d just put it into my golden pen and continue to write for my darling countrymen. If I was Neil Armstrong I would have had a chat with moon demanding him a handful of his light probably a half of that he possess in his own pen. And I’m sure he would have given it to me. But now as I have no pen and the paper is left unwritten, I am dying of pain that my body is having. This is like facing shortage of drug of which I’m already addicted. |