Train to the moonbeam

So you see, Today Annie too left. Like you. If you had gone to the humid, wetness of Kerala to bring back to me scents of fresh mud, She has gone to Mizoram and probably she will bring me back the chill in a glass jar. She would any ways bring me the mizo lungi she has promised. I feel like running away too, away from the heat. More than the heat, appa wanted me to be home. I wonder why I get into backlogs of work all the time. There used to be a girl who was more than a perfectionist to finish every work on time. She is dead. Sounds like the confessions of an old time good student, huh? I am glad she has gone.
It’s all a balancing act now. Deadlines crossing over another, but if I do not get lost in something else, I might just be meeting deadlines, dead ends. So I splurge, but not in lethargy as you may fear. I readreadreadread like crazy. All sorts of things. My afternoon siestas, well you cannot practically think about anything else in this weather, then my movie doses. My endless midnight strolls to stare at the moon beam, the chai outside the reading room at 2 in the morning, again going back to the books. Oh, there was somebody I knew who used to sleep at nine and drank only coffee. Well, I can’t afford to sleep even though the floor is beckoning. You heard it right, who can sleep on a bed these days?
Annie slept early tonight in a happy go lucky upper berth. Her good night missed call was quite early today. My last memories of a train journey is with Terry Eagleton and Marxist Literary Criticism, a blue bottle of water and memories of a thousand journeys. Who went back to write a letter? Spaces in the wall for generations to scribble their dreams.