~~Sitting on the study table with a full mind and a blank page. Am I just confused where to start from or I just don't want to start at all?
For the millionth time I am questioning myself on why I do this everyday. What's the use? Is there supposed to be a use? Can I not do this just for time pass? Writing letters to No one? Am I weird? Yes I am. There's no doubt in that. But why am I getting obsessed with writing these letters when I started just for fun? Agh I don't know. I don't know anything. And I don't want to know anything either. Let me just be clueless. It's better than knowing everything. Each and every hurtful thing. ~~
I fold the peice of paper in the tiniest peice I can and take it down to the garden.My steps halt in front of the black roses as I pluck one of them and burry the paper in it's place.
After placing the petals of the freshly removed rose on the burried letter, I go back in and sleep.
And that's how it goes every night...Each day and each night.