There will come times when you'll not be able to write, and times you will not want to write. You will look at your papers and they —impish little creatures— will stare back; challenging you, go ahead.

So you must slide them away and look out your window; towards a leaf, folded into itself, that somersaults in the wind and lands beside a wagging tail, under a red car. And just a little down, you see a watchman, sitting, staring at a white wall, for no reason. In the almost evening, two kids walk home with backpacks way below their backs carrying cotton candies you wish you could teleport. Drilling noises from the house next door, you sigh and take a nap on your papers.

But a fly still buzzes around you and you're afraid it'll buzz right into your ear, the watchman staring vacant, has stood and walked to a paan shop, a leaf has landed on your window sill with a bug that eats away its edges, and the dog has finally found a lone corner, in the distance a woman with thailas in hands and her pallu wrapped around her waist walks into the clammy evening, soon she'll be home, then right inside the kitchen; only the winds swirl slightly slower as you sleep so your papers don't flutter  out.

When you wake, these impish creatures giggle in your ears because you drooled all your words away
and now you must join in their laughter, because the almost-evening's almost gone and your rebel-like papers have chased you yet another day. And yet another day you pass knowing you have more to write.

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Grateful to everyone for continuing to read this till the end, your all support and patience means a lot to me. Hope this has been meaningful and worth the time. Thank you for being here.