On Love, Loss and never being enough to reach that White Horse
July 04,2024 Two cups of coffee at bedtime, one usual and one black, because that's how he said he liked his coffee. Eyes bloodshot red because I could not afford to sleep, just to wake up to that all consuming emptiness - was literally the state I was in a month ago, when inevitably I was denied of the companionship of another cold desolate heart. Forgive my pretentious writing- for I tend to hide beneath these word woven cages, I've heard, but when I didn't, I paid a hefty price- the loss of identity, you call it. For me, it felt miserable to be lukewarm, in mere three days or how many months was it? I really don't want to count. Then, I committed the worst sin I could've, at that time; I started reading 'White Nights' by Dostoyevsky, those monologues, coughed up at some bench near a river at Petersburg, begged me to write this tale. Dear reader, I confess I still am not able to complete that book, even though I've claimed healing and have supposedly a...