She glanced once again at the many sheets of paper scattered all over her desk, as they sat nonchalantly, ruffling gently under the fan. It was morning now; sunlight was streaming generously from her open window and the blue ink on her papers glinted slightly. She arose from her chair and dragged herself to the bathroom, eager to get away from her desk. After washing her face, she examined it in the mirror. Her eyes spoke volumes about the sleepless night she had spent, spewing her agony on those innocent sheets of paper. She wondered why she had done that, buying a ream of papers on her way home from work last evening. She did not know why she had not chosen to just type away on her computer.
She got out of the bathroom and intended to go straight to her kitchen. She was going to need a lot of coffee to stay alert today. However, she stopped once again at her desk and started to collect the empty bottle of wine and her coffee mug. Events of last night were beginning to puzzle her. Never before in her life, she had gone on a wine and coffee fueled writing romp. She picked up a particular piece of paper which was wedged beneath the coffee mug. It just listed the many places she wanted to travel to. To an unassuming reader, it would have come across just as a bucket list. But only she knew the emotions that had led her to jot down her travel wishes. The soul numbing monotony gnawing into her life threatening to crush her dreams was making her remind of what she was missing. Now that she was getting out of the haze of last night’s stupor, she was beginning to understand what she was doing last night. Those papers were not just bearers of her angry, hopeful and passionate words. They were a meditation on her life so far. Until last night, she had not realized that her dreams were finally standing up and wanted to escape the tyranny of her daily life.
She looked at the clock and tore herself away from her desk and made coffee. She then proceeded to the bathroom and took a shower. She got dressed, had her breakfast. She came back to her desk and retrieved the stack of bills hidden under her papers of confession. It was the beginning of the month and those needed to taken care of. She looked at the papers once more and with a sigh walked away, closing the door behind her.
The papers rested there, cheerfully ignorant of the fact that they were confidantes of someone’s regrets, dreams and hopes. They remained by the open window until a breeze swept up and they flew away one by one, outside her home. By the time she returned, those papers were long gone, drifting somewhere far away.