Incomple..

Of things incomplete, the one that takes me on the most supreme guilt trip- the things unsaid. Closely followed by the the things left incomplete. Maybe the canvas of a mountain, a river and a house with the shining sun undone. Or of a beach, the sea but the palm trees without any fruits.

There are things to be done, journeys to be taken, things to be said- all pending, and waiting for their proper ending. Time, after all, is something which slips out of the crevices and cannot be held.

Of completeness, R will draw to a close- a complete end- in a few months. And as much as I wanted this time to be a reality, I look back and see all the wonderful things that have happened to me in these years. Friends, foes and myself. I have happened to myself.

A close friend left R last year with beautiful songs for everyone. I think I'll leave everyone with the one thing that is the closest to me- my writing. I'll write about the people who have mattered to me- our moments- before the curtain draws. Words, my strength. Words, my own.