file system consistency checking life.

A few days ago, from a few storeys up, I was watching the rain turn everything grey and knew that down there in that offcolor downpour I could see more clearly than up here in this cubicle. It would be warmer there for my mind than up here in this global connectivity indifference. The truth was, I wanted to be cold in that rain in order to be warm again.

(After I found the reason why I had missed myself for so long, the resulting truth was a kind of a letdown by itself. No, I take that back, letdown is too inadequate a word. That truth was a tragedy but perhaps there is just no mot juste or mots justes for this truth. The recent catharsis although it brought me back - to my own internal truths and eventually back to myself - also brought me closer to see my own tragic flaw face to face. A conspiracy of fate, of tragic fools bound by the mylar ropes of time and written promises; yes, I have known even as a child that God has a dry and wry humor. )

I continued to stare outside to lose myself in the rain as they wove against each other on the windows of this building, and the want to just go and disappear was there for a moment; true and bleeding.

(And the feeling of being apart from everything else is back; I am looking at the world again with a sort of detachedness that I had years ago, of not really being part of anything or anyone's emotion one except this time I don't feel alone, just that pervading sense of loss and longing that will never really go away as long as I breathe. There is no other choice but to continue and like a long time ago, I will just let my tears come.)

Tonight, a cold wind blows and I feel no promise of rain, just a kind of a chill to the bone. The yellow lampposts and almost empty streets are taking me to a time and place far removed from here and now, years and miles away. I realized this is a rather bad time for reading Haruki Murakami.