The pain, killer.

I had waited a few weeks for this. To find some time. To get out. To be alone. To face the wind. Finally, after all the pitching and rolling, and the settling in of dust, I found myself wanting to get out this last weekend. And I did. I threw the camera into a backpack, and hopped on to the bike, and set out.

And I would never know what was it that I forgot to take this time. I listened to the sound from the exhaust, and all I could hear was the mechanised drone, and not sweet music. I missed the wind on my face, then realized heck, I had the helmet on. What was the helmet doing on my face now??? I felt irritated at the thumpings from the road, transmitted uncomfortably through some delicate parts of my body where it came in contact with the bike's seat. I watched in silent indifference as I saw fishermen, with their precise, dance like steps threw their nets into the water, neither feeling the temptation to suddenly park the bike and run along to get a snap nor see what catch was in there for me!

Everything looked a pale, dull grey.

I walked along the beach, stared at the lighthouse. The sight could be termed as something equivalent of 'magnificient' or 'awe-inspiring', had it been another day. another time of my life. The green, blue and beachsand of the land succumbed meekily before the ever-expansive might of blue sky, stretching all around, the view from the beach was indeed inspiring. But I couldn't just find that inspiration today.

I watched my footprints in sand behind me. One pair of feet. It looked desolate. Wanting. I kept on walking briskly, to pacify a throbbing heart. There were several sights, multi-colored catamarans lined up along the shore... children playing atop them, the faint lines of a liner in distance against the red cherry of the sun... But my camera remained inside the sack. Nothing. Nothing can fill that void today.

Some other day, perhaps.