Finally I opened the doors of my mind, (lockdown kind of helped) found my diary ( yes,I still use pen and paper as my first medium to express - so sue me), picked up a pen to write down what I was feeling. As is a common habit, I turned back a few pages of the diary.... and what I saw there boggled me.
I had a huge collection of incomplete blogs staring at me. Some just titles, some with a few lines and some abandoned after a couple of paragraphs. They all were started at various phases of my life but never completed. I started reading them , one by one - just to check if I felt like completing any of them. To my surprise , reading them was therapeutic but none called out to me to complete it. They were complete - in being incomplete. Maybe they were a part of a process or just some passing thoughts.
Maybe everything we write is not for people , at times we write to just ...write. We scribble, we express , we pour out just to feel free...feel alive....feel happy. It works as a release , same way a dancer sometimes dances for just himself / herself or a sportsperson keeps practising alone.
Those incomplete blogs were release...from what I don’t remember but they worked because here I am - with a pen in hand and ready to write.
So thank you my incomplete blogs...you completed my chain of thoughts.
