For the sound of bird outside my room window. Too sunny and just plain walls of the other building hence no view in particular. But the sunshine falling in between the two compound spaces. And the bird sitting on my window sill. The way zainab wakes up often to the maina's loud sound at the window.
It is every day little things. Routine. Life. Activity. That keeps us going. That should keep us going against the heaviness of impending pull of strong gravity. It doesn't stop. But so does the bird at the window. She doesn't stop either. Zainab wakes up every day. The sun dawns every day.
No matter what. Life keeps giving a choice each second. To choose. To listen. To move that blanket and brush your teeth. To live. To laugh. To smile. To cherish. To find like a shelter for your empty brain before the neurons lose connection. Before you stare at dendrites and wonder if it was or is even a word.
To write. To scribble. The sound of pencil on paper.
It isn't bad. Lows are not bad. Lows don't exist. Until we make them so. Lows don't exist until we see them so. Get up. Let yourself lose. Catch yourself off guard smiling at the bird sitting at your window. And take yourself from there. From there. From here.
