Spirit of Hope

An excerpt my Journal:

A haunting patter of rain drops on the window constantly held my attention. The blissful smell of petrichor and the silence that my house adopts after 11pm. What better time to sit with my favourite journal and begin writing?

It almost seems like every object around me has a story to tell, a story for the world to hear, the blank walls staring at me and the people in the photo frames scrutinising me. It is an amazing feeling of euphoria to be able to hear the scratch of the pen on the paper. The world around me just seems so calm, almost as if I am the only one in the world. Heavy snores of my father and the ticking of the clock, and I thought morning were the best time to write!

Tonight, I feel something special, the spark to write more and more and the urge to publish my stories to the world. As a person with an ardent love for writing, I love to narrate and re-define stories, events and incidents that matter to me. I beam when I realize the little things that matter to me, do to the others too. That is exactly most people would kill for a VOICE to narrate. Amidst, the almost simultaneous trail of thoughts, my loud companion rattled even louder on the window.

Soulfully enjoying every ounce of silence around me, I figured what gave me the high to write. In, an aura of complete darkness, except for a beam of light from the side lamp, there is nothing else that sounds better that the striking silence. It’s almost like magic. The thoughts that calm and silence can trigger. Is it just me? Apparently, seems like I have a new thing to obsess about – A night of silence. In an overly loud world that I usually bury myself in, I wish switching to nights by individual choice was an option I had. They say spirits linger at night, well, I guess they do.  A spirit of joy to one, and a spirit of melancholy to another, or even so a spirit of insomnia to yet another.

Today, for me it was a spirit and a force that helped me write after what seemed like a life time. A spirit that showed me writer’s block is just another bridge I could cross. A spirit of encouragement, almost like unity in cluelessness – the angel of words and myself.