Kafka in the balcony

06:33 pm

I was sitting here in the balcony with Kafka in my lap

glimpsing at the setting sun in the between the pages.

I again felt that pang of setting free the writer in me.

I took a long drag and watched the cigarette’s end glow with the same colour as the sun.

For the thousandth time I resolved to start writing.

I looked towards the horizon again,

but the sun was already gone.

07:46 pm

I think it’s much easier to write anonymously. Knowing that every keystroke, every word, every sentence, every paragraph is an orphan, makes the experience a little liberating. The words flow more smoothly, more effortlessly. I do make edits to this text as well, but not so much as I do with the other stuff that I write.