Today.

I stopped writing.
Words come and go.
Thoughts sit and converse if they catch me paying attention.
We meet over a cup of coffee or a book. They remind me to post them later.
Smell of half finished cup of coffee lingers still in the air mixed with the half baked half remembered thoughts.
I fail to write though.
Promising myself never to succumb to the world of attractions and illusions, I had connected well with thoughts, ideas and words.
Poor grammar and spelling could not stop the passion with which conversations danced through.
At times often while scribbling or typing out a post, I'd feel my fingers dance. A little dance of Love. A little fusion of sitar and tabla. A little conversation.
Today I sit and blink. There's coffee but no aroma. There are words but no thoughts. Today I write as a robot. Today I write as a crash cart attempting to rejuvenate the soul within.
Today I come back and sit, patiently waiting for place where I had last left God.