The Hazy Road

In words I found love. I would play with them, arrange them one next to the other, scribbling them off whenever they did not obey me and convey the meaning I wanted, decorating the i's and the y's with beautiful loops and curves, and smiling with pride once I wrote a beautiful writing. I would throw them around in obscure corners of paper- newspaper advertisements, useless posters, math sums- and my computer. I would be ruthless enough to forget them when I got frustrated about where to put them in my writing, and then, like a reluctant child, come back looking for the same beautiful phrases which I once discarded as stupid. Stories did not come into my mind like a train of thoughts, waiting for me to board it and be carried and led into a new world. They came in my romances with words. I would stare at a word or a sentence for long and out of some unknown fear or perhaps change of mind, the words would convey a different meaning than what dictionaries describe. They