Before I left.

I imagined pretty much of a party before I left the city. Endless coffee, conversations and hugs with people I thought I truly cherished. Quite contrary to that the days grow on me while I sit at home. Seems like I have managed to wrap up an extra layer of flesh on me. The other day I read Fireflies in the Garden by Robert Frost.

And I just thought I'd put it in here : Not because I think it has some queer sort of a significance and certainly not because I think I can relate to it but becasue I simply love it

Having just said that I realize the that I have taken the longest time ever to get there- halfway into the gist of those very lovely words.  In the course of an ordinary and rather boring day how many of us do things purely for the love of it? I wouldn't be needing any more fingers than the ones already adorning my pale little hands to make that count.

Fireflies in the Garden

by Robert Frost.

Here come real stars to fill the upper skies

And here on earth come emulating flies

That though they never equal the stars in size

(And they were never really stars at heart)

Achieve at times a very star like start

Only ofcourse they can't sustain the part.

So I am going to keep doing what I do well or atleast I am going to keep trying.So should you.