More than a few months have passed since that night which was so desolate an affair as to be voiceless in a sea of thoughts. The swarm of thoughts that came to me swayed as if a storm was up and about, battering them with a torrential downpour of ideas that resonated with the words “If Only”. Voices talked about my fear and the accompanying frustration. I wanted to capture time and erase painful memories that stirred up a rage powered by a hundred-and-one repressed emotions and unremembered misdeeds. The most hurtful prose ever written was bursting at its seams in my mind as I fantasised writing word after word, idiom after idiom of savage nothings…

But I did not write. I imagined it all. In my head. I scribbled nonsensically in an age old diary like a madman whose creations are beyond comprehension.

A thundering weather front welled up behind my eyes as I walked down the road trying to make sense of this tailwind of chaos. For several minutes the dams of reason were creaking as they broke down under the unrelenting pressure of submerged thoughts, needs, wants and greed. A shrouded figure made its way down an endless street, casting a shadow that seemed to feed on darkness itself. Wolves howled and demonised the modicum of sanctity left to me. Screaming voices fled from an unwelcome rat race. Why not give up and rest? Why haven’t we already given up? Perhaps we have but don’t acknowledge defeat.