Rust

If this blog was an object, solid and tangible, it would be a notebook, filled with rantings and musings about this quirky thing called life. But it won't be one of those looseleaf notebooks with scribbles and random jots, the pages dog-eared and the cover slightly tattered, the very portrayal of a notebook well-loved by its owner. No, it would resemble more of a glossy hardcover notebook, with perfectly creased pages, the entries logged inside not any lesser, but just neater, and more organized. Every sentence was carefully thought out and structured, full stops and commars where they should be. You can almost visualize the writer biting on her pen, pondering hard before merticulously penning down the next sentence.

No, this blog does not contain those heartfelt words that gushes out of your mind and onto paper, the thoughts went through a filter and processing, before turning into indelible ink.

And now, the once gleaming notebook will be covered by a layer of dust, left in negligence by her owner. Left in a corner of the room, untouched.

For now, the owner would just like to blow off the dust, settle the book on her lap, snuggle into a comfortable position and flip through the past. Its not really time for a new entry, she feels. At the moment, all she feels like doing is to turn those pages and recollect those memories that are not completely forgotten, but merely fading into the background.

In her book, there's always time for nostalgia.