moments in hours

"i wanted to be a writer,thats all ..i wanted to write about it all..... everything that happens in a moment,how the flowers felt when you carry them in your arms,this towel how it smells.... this thread,all our feelings... yours and mine,the history of it ,who we once were...everything in the world...everything all mixed up....... like its all mixed up now.... and i failed ...no matter what you start with it ends up being so less..." .......
.......

"tell me a story ...tell me the story from your day...."
"i ..i got up ...went out..out to buy flowers....just like mrs dalloway in the book.. and it was a beautiful morning..."
"beautiful was it?"
"oh yes it was so beautiful,....so fresh....."
"fresh was it? like a morning on a beach? like that morning when you walked out of that old house ..that morning when you were eighteen and maybe i was nineteen .....i was nineteen years old and i had never seen anything more beautiful...you coming out of the glass door in the early morning sunshine.... still sleepy....isnt it strange...the most ordinary morning in anybody's life...."

-Richard,The Hours.

some moments from ordinary days of our lives always lie deep sunken in our subconscious,they are always there,recorded in eternity.maybe we dont believe in them,get cynical to deny their existence.
but can never get back there,bend down to pick up the cold sand of winter,....run free under the dark umbrella of the old trees ....there where it was pitch dark no matter how bright the sun was..
.... relive the blessing in the chilly dark night...embrace once again the cloud of emotion filling in my chest,the quiver in my eyelids...the small puffs of air entering and leaving my throat...the gulped realities...
every flutter of the neem leaves of summer.... small forgotten spaces, where i had stared and wondered in void ...rather questioned the existence of it..... but ended up embracing it...absorbed the silences and sights....... eventually the spaces and the air and sounds of the most ordinary hours ended up in a column of feelings held close to the heart.