It’s been so long since I last wrote that I fear I have forgotten how to write. The words are not spilling out as easily as they used to. I find myself forcibly disengaging the words away from one another. And when they do free themselves from my thoughts and appear on the screen they merely tumble down in a disorderly manner instead of gliding smoothly into place. There is a strange effort going in typing down my thoughts today. But nothing is unwanted. I am greedy like that. There is a beautiful quote by Shirley MacLaine that pierces my heart every time I read it; Fear makes strangers of people who could be friends.

I can hear the Neighbour’s TV. Faint gibberish is floating through the air around me. You would think it might disrupt the beauty of a silent night, but it gives an interestingly surreal sense to my space, informing me a presence that I hadn’t previously felt. I respond them back in my Mancunian-less accent.

If I could have moments of my life captured on camera, I would want my reel to be series of goodbyes. Of all the times I have walked away. A handshake. A tight hug. A lone tear, hidden behind turned backs. A lingering gaze. A soft kiss on forehead. Tap on my shoulder. And parting words that twist my heart. A promise to meet again. And then those other kind of goodbyes. The ones that cause relief to flood through my being and those that don’t garner any ceremony. The ones that simply meant to be. Why be prolific, if you don’t want to feel? Why long for things if they are not to be ours?