.a written note.

Some unknown hurry. Some desperation I knew but didn't have to come across. Until now. Until this specific moment. Its midnight. I guess so. I'm horrified. Scared. Feeling almost empty. And emptier, the more I think of what made me feel like it. The roots of it. The dream I just dreamt. The dream I happened to dream. Unwillingly, for sure. I'd prefer anything over the kind of a dream I just dreamt, my instincts. No, nothing's going to happen to her, the voice almost yells from the inside. Needless to say the dream was worse than reality. So worse that the reality itself would rather seem and feel beautiful. My mother used to say, considering the continuity of the dreams I dreamt back then, that people usually dreamt about things they constantly thought of or wished to happen. I remember the days when I used to stumble across the same as I did now. Bad, painful dreams, making me feel like I was never going to get away from them. Most of the dreams, back then, were the...

Typical Tuesday night. Just having done with writing in my diary about today and how it proved to be a hard one when looked back at, the newly noticed thing begins becoming familiar to me, I realize. A thing I've been noticing for a couple of days. Yeah, the sunlight plays a pretty good role making me want to get rid of it and hide in some darkness instead. Sounds dramatic. Even filmy. But the way I become hopeful for the night every night! Hopeful for how its possibly going to be. Hopeful for what am I going to get to know that I didn't figure out when the Sun was up. Does there seem anything feeling more alive than the hope? Is there any such thing, I wonder. I'm hopeful nonetheless. What to actually do with these inner voices or the deeper sources they come from? The deeper sources, I wonder whether they're from the inside or something from the outside is making it happen. Making me feel so. Something. There has to be something. Or someone. Can one really ...