I Blame the Pen

Who would want to run around in circles with their hearts on their sleeves?

Rushing to finish a job to meet a deadline I struggled miserably because after this, nothingness will be a constant companion and when there is nothing left to do my mind wanders around and I hate when that happens.

I was just about to write down some notes for the job I am working on but I could not find the pen that I was just playing around with my left fingers. I have literally turned this room upside down and still couldn't find it. I have searched the whole apartment which is just a box really. I broke down all of a sudden. The damn pen made me check each corner of my place and wherever I look, I see him.

It has been one hell of a week when I should have seen stars and rainbows in the sky.

I was afraid to come back here because I knew I was going to smell the scent he left here, and that I was going to see him in every corner.

I am never good at talking, much less, speaking my heart out. So I have managed to have blown my chances profoundly and miserably. I blame the pen. I blame the pen for making me look all over the place, to stop and pause, to search and find that which I did not wish to have found. I blame the pen for my being better at it on paper than opening my mouth and letting the voice out when the timing was right. I blame the pen for not being there when I needed it the most. I blame the pen for making me find that one person I never expected to have met when I went away to find myself again.

He was there and he was here. He was there and here for me. I was blindsided by my own vicious capacity of not knowing how to let my guards down. So I pretended not to see him. I pretended not to see through the bigger picture.

I allowed my fears to prevent me from submitting to a passion that one can only indulge for a moment. I blew it unwittingly and profoundly.

One week was all I had and I still managed to be the person that I am that I wish I am not in those times when I just want to live for the moment.

What I could have done differently was make every single moment like there was no tomorrow because indeed what we had was that.

Now all I have is the damn pen, to write what I needed to say but was not able to when I had my chances. It can be read but won't be heard, it won't be felt. It is never the same.

So there goes my pen and the man and what could have been.