Sometimes at the end of a day I sit on its edge and reminisce how my journey was. I think we all do this knowingly, unknowingly. (In matters like these, we’ve not been given much choice.) And sometimes at the end of the road we are propelled with such great momentum that our only moment of reminiscing is just before hitting the warm, inky depths of the night.
We writers are generally not blessed with such a swift end to our journeys. By our very nature, we are addicted to trying and prolonging this leap, that epiphany between jumping from the cliff and hitting the waters. Though this rarely happens, the road ends sooner than expected, the precipice beckons and we’ve but no choice to end it all, then and there.
But sometimes, by some opportunistic sleight, we do manage to pause the wheels of time. On days like these, we sit on the edge of the cliff and look back at the road, trying to derive meaning out of this needless traveling and jumping and re-emerging dripping the dreams of the night.
This life is also a road which ends at the cliff of death. From its edge too we take the leap and drown in its unforgiving waters, only to emerge unharmed, renewed and dripping with the karmas of our previous journey.
Sometimes at the end of a day like today, I just wish that when my journey finally ends, I’ll be given more than a moment of recollection, that in the moment when I look back, I’ll see a life well spent and a love well earned.
Sometimes at the edge of a day like today, I just wish her to be beside me and the day… to never end.
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