I pulled my rolled aquamarine mat and laid it on the moist grass. It was drizzled by the nimbus clouds that covered the sky not long ago before we arrived. Spring has arrived.

We found ourselves an umbrella under the sprawling pink blooms of a cherry blossom tree. I laid down, crossed my arms under my head. I looked up and it was a blanket of the same pink flowers contrasted by a deep blue sky behind it. If you listen closely, you could hear the petals touch each other as they were swayed by the cold wind.

For the first time in almost sixty days, it felt normal again. At least almost.

The glares of the sun started to crawl from the window, light was escaping from the blue sheets that tried to partition me from the rest of the world. I was in a deep slumber, but the glares continued to creep through to my eyelids no matter how hard I try to keep them shut. A few moments later, I woke up to what I thought would be a fine morning.

Tick tock.

I stared at the watch strapped on my wrist to see how swiftly that second hand moves. I have been stuck in traffic for the last forty-five minutes. I glanced at the window, only to figure that home is still another twenty five minutes away from where I am..

When I was younger, I was better at expressing my thoughts in unobstructed words. I was at a place where curiosity and inquisition were affordable commodities at that age, something I thought I can no longer afford today. I was always in a summoning mode and my thoughts were easily provoked by even the most monotonous motions on Earth.

Four months. More than four months.

It wasn’t until four months after I made what could have been the biggest moment of my life that I began writing again. My mind has his world of his own, he writes freely when he pleases but never when I command him to do so.