Sometimes I feel so irritated. In my mind, I wish to write on and on, but here I stand with an empty cup – that needs to be filled with an Idea.
I feel to write about a lot of things, my day yesterday, the dream I saw past night, the wonderful dinner I had yesterday evening at a barbeque restaurant.
But, the matter of fact is each of this events is so devoid of colors that is not enough to make a painting. But still these words hang around me to be played with.