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Vestiges of the day

The sun's been down for a while now. Everything in the commute is a blur except for the magnificence of the duration when a phone conversation tried to bridge the distance in-between our delicious love. Walking the steps to home introduces a buzzless calm for the first time in the day. The everydayness that troubled earlier, pacifies these days instead. The love has settled sweetly in a corner of the heart and is content (for now, until a few hours). The tired mundanity and contentedness of love cancel each other out and my face is left mostly expressionless.. its turns into a shell through which the senses operate but leave no footprint on.
A few final steps and I sit heavily on the bed. Feet have been bound in the same shoes since morning. Thoughts from work never quite enter my mind, but they don't quite completely leave me as well. (it makes for very amusing absurd dreams at times :P) No music is playing right now, no thoughts willing to raise their questioning hands. For the first time in the day, we are allowed to take our time. I do. I sit there looking absently around in my little room. and my right leg jumps onto left begging me to free it from the grips of the shoes that stink of the day.
Removing the shoes slowly, rolling down the smelly socks.. throwing them in the bin. the feet need rest.. a little pampering even. That is perhaps the most tender time of the day.
I rub the feet clean of the days trivialities. I rub it hard and i rub it clean. Even before i let a stream of nice cold water on it, it is clean of any vestige of the day. While home it must walk in hope of a new day. The past 12 hours had seen purposeless movements through the day, the next 12 should be purposive strides (or rest).

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Ctrl-tab
Ctrl-tab...
Scroll Scroll Scoll..
Alt-tab
Alt-tab...
Catch yourself slipping away.

Deep  breath. 

Close the browser. silence the mobile and turn it away.

Open an offline-real-paper diary. Stop your thighs from lolling impatiently. Stay still. 

Pick up a pen awkwardly. ahh, the fingers are stiff. It will take a  while for them to get used to holding a pen. Quick finger exercise - open the palm, stretch finger outwards, close into a fist, dig the fingers in. Repeat.
Ok now.. about to pick up the pen again, but eyes dart towards the screen. Tempted to check email.

Shut up. The last consequential email came two months ago. Nothing of consequence is online.

Pick up the pen. Don't fetishize the object now. Get on with it. Put it on paper, write a word and start it already. If I get to a sentence, perhaps I will get into a flow and won't have to look up from the paper at all. 

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