The invisible woman
It's been raining again. The temperatures dropped drastically since last night. It is the perfect weather for brooding. I forced myself out of the house around lunchtime, and wandered around the corridors of the mall, looking at the windows of closed shops. No way I could barter my old thoughts for new ones, my worn out disenchantment for renewed enthusiasm, my wasted hopes for cheap thrills out of the box. But I am not that numb yet. My blood occasionally boils till my heart almost comes to a halt. My hands shake when I stumble into the wrong pictures, or the wrong letters and then turn cold. Sometimes I even feel the urge to close my fists and fight, turn my pillow into a sandbag, hit it and scream at the top of my lungs: what is it that turns me so invisible to the eye?
Tomorrow is another working day. It will not be convenient to indulge on wondering so much. It is not productive by any means. So I am trying to use up all my share of wondering today.
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