On Wednesdays We Wear Pink

A mean girls quote shall no doubt be the epitome of this post, as it seems the essence of my words have been sucked from my soul. I can only hope that the black hole they have vanished beyond will kindly return them to me very soon, unscathed. I thought such a momentous day had to be marked in one form or another and a blog post shall nicely suffice. Hurriedly I will continue to save you from my monotonous tone; I can tell you about something that has been playing on my mind every since I saw this oh so very quaint scene.

I looked across from where I sat to see a girl so still that the only movement I could detect was the slight rise and fall of her body, inhale, exhale. It was a girl who was quite palpably under the spell of the writing process; head bowed, hands in the clutches of her brain unwound, pen to paper. As I watched with avid curiousity, I wondered if I am a sight so quaint when I sit down to write, oh how highly I doubt. Yet, I began to think then of how one comes to be under such hypnotic stature, and of what wonderful things such a spell can do to you. Tranquillized into an anaesthetic daze, our minds are transported into a trance of utter serene demure. I think of all the beauty writing can shed over what are usually perceived as mere trivial matters; what a lovely mind-state to be caught up in.   It was then that I was hit with a pang of jealousy to be where that girl was, so I sought a pen and in haste began to write. & these words above, although a tangled mess strung together, formed such a bridge entering this magical world, but which later collapsed all around me as soon as my pen etched the full stop.