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Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappears.

- Marcus Aurelius

Sometimes I don't have anything to write but I feel like writing. Writing even poems becomes simple. Something gives a reason I don't understand. It is not inspiration I know. It is pain and I don't understand it too.

As I have always believed that some things happen for the first times in our lives and it is nice that they happen. Yes, it is nice. But it can be painful. Torturous at time. Unhealthy for the future. They may excite me for the moment but they don't turn into words easily and so, I can't get lucid. It is serious. Those things are serious. I am serious.

Sticking on to something can be tough. Especially when I have spent some years in believing an idea contrary to the present one. I knew grief was somewhere around but didn't know it would strike this way. So brutally and so cleverly. It happens to perfection, creates reality that can't be thought as vague even if it is so; it happens as Allah commands. And He does it beautifully. No doubt. I sit and talk to myself and to Allah.

It was once of those things I had to get over and I was thinking that time would help me out. Here time seems to hunt me down. Perhaps it knows the future and it is preparing me for it. I really don't know what it is. I would reather fill all of today's post with the words "I don't know what is going on". All I can see is a systematic series of events, I had once ruled out thinking them to be foolishness, taking place at the apex of my emotions.

I can't explain intutions. I wish I could at least write them down. It could be so pathetic. But they were not exactly intutions. They were rather cognitions; my imaginations I had created to entertain myself. This would sound unimaginable. Even the presence looks the same to me. I can take things as they come. But its not as easy as it looks. Maybe it is. The mood I am right now says it is not.