23:55

4°C|°F
Precipitation: 20%
Humidity: 40%
Wind: 16 mph



Stared at the blank page like I just met a stranger. Transfixed into an empty space like looking at static signal only it was more quiet than me. 

Hello. 

I said as I light a cigarette. 

And as the first virgin smoke clouded my lungs, I can see it like a ghost reflected on its screen, vivid like crystal eyes. 

The page doesn't know every secret that I'm holding. Every word that I'm keeping.

But as its keys start to type away, clicking like a language only it can understand, It knows for a fact that it wont be long before every literature from my soul is recorded and kept within its memory.

In the old days, they say that if one has a secret that he doesn't want to share, he goes up in the mountain, chooses a tree and would carve a hole on its trunk. Only there he can whisper his secret and cover it with mud to preserve it forever. 

I climbed mountains, travelled miles, and crossed continents even. And I found this place. I'm carving a hole and would leave a part of me but I shall leave it open.

And so I make a pact with this stranger, as I try to remember what it felt like when I had my first cigarette. It will be my witness for every cigarette burnt because of literature. Consumed as I struggle to put into words emotions and ideas that can sometimes be volatile. And as I let go of that smoke, I really wish it would be a cloud, wandering with other clouds as it cruises in an open sky.