I miss writing on paper.

The sense of excitement I used to get looking at a blank white sheet, the power to know that I held total control over it, to write or to scribble, to draw or to vent, which for me was often the same thing, and knowing that whatsoever I chose to do with it is how it would always be, memorized in the crevices of the page for eternity,and then of course the smell, stiff arched whiteness, high-collared queen, a flicker of innocence in the blinding austerity.

Now the closest I come to it is the sight of the flickering cursor, and an electronic page that can be written over, erased, re-written. Things have changed with time, technology has made everything feel more and more lifeless. Relationships are a lot like electronic blogs now too, they have scope for editing, erasing, re-writing. Nothing is stable, nothing is set, written in stone. I miss the days of stability, of promises that were kept, of relationships that weren't as frail, delicate.

It is odd how we keep trying to make things more convenient, things that don't hurt, but in an effort to do so, we end up defeating our purpose. An electronic page has no power to hurt, for it can be swiped cleaned and altered according to however you wish. It is completely submissive to your desire. I miss days where my fingers bled from paper-cuts, days when writing took me from me as much as it gave, like my relationships at the time. They had the power to give in abundance, but also to hurt, except that power was never exercised unless by accident.
Relationships now are bandaged over and over in cling-wrap, bulletproofed. Rules, and regulations of decorum, things that can be said, and things that cannot be said. At all times we try and stifle the power to hurt within ourselves, put on a plastic face and tiptoe on eggshells.. Except the more we do so, the more we end up hurting. More relationships fall apart, lives go awry, love fades to waste.
That is the power of the Unsaid.

So things evolve, and people celebrate change. People celebrate advancement, call it success. I think the more we're going forward we're actually going backward. Everything is plastic. Intangible, cold, safe. I miss the inconvenience, the proximity, the Humanity, I miss the organic life.

As I started out to write this, I had no idea I would end up here again, at You. I miss you and your ability to make me feel alive, human, in ways I cannot anymore. I miss that the most perhaps; our humanity, the organic...... your presence.

Your presence, the touch of your fingers, feel of your hands, warmth of your embrace, sound of your heartbeat, heat from sleeping too close to you. Knowing you have the power, but it would never be exercised. Knowing that the more reasons I had to feel threatened, the more I felt safe. The comfort and the utter surrender, despite the unknowns. That is perhaps what is most remarkable, there was stability despite of the unknowns, or maybe, because of them.
I hate how it is now, almost as much as I hate typing on this electronic page. The continuous strive to reach a state of predictability, to set things in stone when things are continuing to evolve. To attain goals in the future with ways of the past, the consequential inconsistencies, the resulting heartache.But more so, more than anything, the impersonality, the distance, the surreality. The complete absence.

It is tough making do with electronic tools.
I miss the old days, how it all used to be.

So take me back to the start  ?

-The Scientist.

.................


this is the official end of the post. no really.






ps
It's funny how when I started this, the aim was to vent. Somehow somewhere along the way it ended at You. It's funny how everything else I set out to do does the exact same.

This, to another 7 am.