A Hundred And Fifty

It had been a while 

Since I had written anything 

I couldn’t seem to write anymore 

A hundred and fifty days 

Since I had written my last musing 

I'd tried it all 

Closed my window shut 

Turned all the lights off 

Stayed in bed for hours listening to sad music 

Not responded to friends knocking at my door 

Waited for it to rain and when it did, 

I‘d bring out the paper and sharpen my pencil 

Write a word and erase it 

Write a sentence and 

Strike it out 

I made multiple cups of tea on windy Sunday afternoons 

Because I knew the aroma of cardamom lit up certain parts of my brain 

I think it was the hippocampus responsible for the nostalgic activity 

And so I would sit with my cup of cardamom tea and a diary I had picked up at the thrift store because the old lady helping me out had an earnest smile that broke my heart a little 

I would open the diary to a random page

Write a sentence and erase it 

Write another 

Strike it out

But then,

last night I dreamt of you 

Just like I did the night before 

and the one before that

The funny thing is, I usually forget my dreams twenty seconds after I’m up and about 

But this time I woke up feeling heavy 

I gave it 2 hours 

Still remembered every detail 

From the way you cupped my face in your hands while you mumbled what you’d call mawkish, under your breath 

And how I pretended I hadn’t heard you only cause I didn’t want you feeling awkward from embarrassment 

Not even in a dream!

I thought I’d call you and tell you about it 

But you being you, would silence my erraticism with your tranquil but often frustrating composure 

So instead, I played our song while it rained outside

Made a cup of cardamom tea

Brought out the diary 

Wrote a paragraph to the sound of wind 

A total of hundred and fifty words

And more 

This time I didn’t strike them out