Jingly Love

Approaching you is like going through you a poem or prose. I often have to halt at the fullstop, jump above the commas. The world seems lavish at moments- as the writer just found a classy word and decided to drop it but soothing only when it fits well. Ocassionally, on the path to you, I find depth even in the mundane surroundings but primarily they're just what they are, mundane. I ever so often reach you happingly but at others, you're just incomplete- left for the readers to visualise and conclude. At times like these, I return- taking the cherished words with me. Hardly ever turning back to pen the ending myself. Leaving you as a pending draft too afraid to finish, terming my insecurities as the writer's block too hard to subdue.