Only babble

It is happening again.

Every time I break a snooze regime that never existed, I suffer this very same wakefulness.

It’s not easy being an insomniac. Not even for a sorry-excuse-for-a-partly-reformed-one either.

It was many years ago when I heard a little story. Well actually, it was quite an elaborate, well etched story. It was like almost a moving picture, in words. (More of a bane of the mind sort of a matter to see things narrated come alive in that manner. Sorry. Diversion.) It was not exactly an easy story to hear. I had to keep a straight face. I could not reflect the inside on the outside. It wasn’t advisable. It was quite a dilemma. Almost a moral one.  This chortling of self-expression. However, it was accomplished. And just as gently that a golden bronze maple leaf drifts off the tree in autumn, something snapped ever so imperceptibly. It was almost an epiphany. A gentle one in passing.  Something that does not ruffle things but simply flows by. Much like the maple leaf. 

Many people keep maple leaves, ok leaves inside books till they dry. As a child I was told, “Look at the dried veins of the leaf. There’s really nothing to them. But they keep together. And they will. Till the time you want to keep them.” It made me wonder then, why would a dried leaf be more fascinating than a living one? And that of course, would qualify for a rhetoric question as I learnt much later.

Am I trying to get to a point? Well after all, that’s what readers are interested in.

Maybe.

But mostly, I am writing this since as is obvious, I’m still waking.

And maybe because it might just be something to read.

Now. Or at a later point in time.