Magic.

You sit in front of the desktop, type in a few words and pause to consider what you’ve just written. It’s nowhere near your best. So you backspace it all. You sit there staring at the blank document, and with a sense of disbelief, wonder what has gone wrong. You struggle to come up with something. And you think about the time long gone where words once flew freely.  You close your eyes, and go through the myriad thoughts spinning a web around your mind. So many ideas! So many stories to tell!

But nothing to write.

And all of a sudden your mind goes back to that one memory that will forever remain etched there. That day which reaffirmed something you’ve known for quite a while. ‘I don’t think you have it in you anymore’ the words are still fresh. The wounds still raw and they still hurt.

But what’s the point to deny the obvious? Delay the inevitable. So with a sense of nostalgia, you open Blogspot and go through all your entries.

You go through your own work and feel like it was another person who created it. You go through it with a strange sense of indifference- like a person who had once wielded unrestricted power and is now powerless to even lift a finger. Like a magician who had once mesmerised people but knows that the spark is gone and the magic has waned.

‘You might just be the next best thing, not quite like me’

You have prided yourself on your way with words. And now that way appears to have closed its doors to you. It’s like losing your identity. And there’s nothing worse than that. The only thing you can do is live in denial, for accepting the truth is the hardest thing in the world.

You have dreamed a dream. For five years you have dreamt of the day your own book will be out in the market- lauded by one and all. You have lived for it. And when that day draws close, there’s nothing but a sense of despair that hangs heavy over you.

Writing has been your love. And now, there’s nothing but a blank parchment and a pen. The words have dried up. The flair is gone.

So you hum and old Rajesh Khanna favourite, go through your previous works with a sense of great pride, and resign yourself to your fate.  For as they say, not everyone in this world has the fate to experience the fullest form of love. Some are born, just to experience the abbreviation of it.

Perhaps the least you can do is write what you feel, in howsoever rudimentary a fashion, and try and feel that familiar joy once again.

Magic. Believe in it!