I just had one of those days, too much thinking and not much doing and I distaste such days. They had been frequent visitors to me these past few weeks. It’s not that I hate using my head, it’s just not in my nature to dwell over things, I just crave action.
Thoughts sometimes feel like words, empty and promising like a far blue cold cup of water in a dry hot summer day that on closer inspection is empty and has no water in it. I’m thirsty for more. Words no longer fill me. I’m ravenous.
The cold misty drizzle of spring rain is filling me with hopeful glee to mysterious things yet to arrive. It’s as if hope is a real living creature within me, and it’s conjured by the cold drops that made my hair and clothes stick all over my body while I walked for miles thinking.
I do that sometimes, think and walk, walk and think until I feel I no longer can sit in a close space, until my dearest friends, my books feel like paper and ink.
Why does everything feel out of reach? Did the innocent drops wake a monster within me named ‘Hope’? What does ‘Hope’ crave I wonder?
One word echoes inside me ‘More’.