Purpose

(March '08)

''Like a bomb it sits, waiting inside me; waiting, festering, twisting and turning, revising, absorbing and discarding, it waits tick-tock, tick-tock, waiting to explode.
I squirm in uneasiness, trying hard to crystallize my thoughts, make them productive, trying hard to convert some flakes of rationality and creativity into something solid, tangible.
I feel like a suicide-bomber, just waiting for the right instant; Reckless in all my unsurity of life and so, so calm in my surety of death and with it immortality.''

This feeling was not new to her. It came off and on, like the ripples in a pond when someone carelessly tossed a stone within. It hit her because of the averageness of life around her and very often her own too. It caused a discomfort that was not erasable by action or time; as it had entered her, so it would have to leave, of its own accord.
She had done all she could to make life move ahead. Now she waited, for what, even she didn't know. She just trusted it would come and waited. Life was on hold.