And here we are, back to the only place that makes any sense, to the only place that has managed to keep its charm on me still intact through the years, the infinite stretches of cellulose ,guess you can argue that it makes sense to me because it don’t talk back and give me threatening ultimatums, or maybe the reason that i fancy it so much is that its easy to get rid of, well i can argue (a lot) for other reasons but the one that probably will hold water is that this destination has been a preferred choice of travel for me is because i can in a way relate to it. And the moment we can relate to something it becomes so much easier for us to take a liking to it, well most of the times at least, the reason that I can relate to this place is its nature, it is blank and it is free, much like my state of mind most of the times, at least the blank part, but once you write something on it, the permanent imprints on it remain there for time immemorial, recycling it won’t change a thing, someplace deep down, there still remains a layer that will continue to hold that thought and the punctuations and remarks wont go away, not with any amount of eraser or whiteners, its hard to think why it took me so long to find this place again, I like it best here, since I can remember being able to like anything, ever since I learnt to write, I was writing with an invisible pen for a finger on the paper of air, nothing feels more pure than a crisp white piece of paper that you can just fold and put in your pocket. Used to be my way of life. Bored? Write about it! Happy for a change? Try to express it. Attempt to put your wit on paper, can’t think of anything to write? Well, write about not having anything to write! For what we are, what we feel can’t always be expressed through mere words, but sometimes you have to make that attempt to jump out of the page, to encapsulate that one moment of absolute elation or those nights of grief, what if nobody reads that, maybe it’s not about being read, it’s about being written.So Write on...