I called you Kim

When I saw you yesterday, I called you Kim. I called you this even though I knew that your name was Julia. I suppose it was because it happened on the first day I met you again that I thought your name was Kim, and was so confident of it that I called out to you excitedly. Then you smiled and said it was Julia, not Kim. And it all returned to me like a great wave. I had never thought much of you before. It was not until that day that something about you had sprung an unknown force in me. We were talking, but talking like any one would talk; there was nothing special, nothing miraculous about our talk. Yet, I was enraptured, enamoured of your presence, and I wanted more, more, more. But the night was parsimonious and gave me little time. That is probably why you have begun intruding my dreams.

Lesson was cancelled today for a reason too tedious to explain. Thought I’d spend the day working on my essay, since there was so much time and space for free, deliberate thinking – and that is usually what is required to write a proper philosophical essay. But as soon as I was going to being writing, something fell in the way of my thinking and I could not write a word. Anything I wrote read like complete nonsense; or was otherwise so grotesques-sounding that it might as well have been nonsense. I read somewhere that good writing is like good music. One has to write as if one were composing music. This morning, in fact, the entire day, I could not compose any music; all I could muster were horrid noises, clambering over one another to achieve absolutely nothing. Time and again I ask myself where has gone my swift hand.

Some days ago I saw a picture on Facebook, which was actually posted on Instagram, and which had that ever-obnoxious tag ‘throwback’. It was of a.. Well, I really shouldn’t say. In any case, it was of someone some years ago, on a scenic landscape. It was obnoxious because there seemed to be no reason at all for posting such pictures. What was the point of posting a picture of yourself doing something silly some five years ago? If you had happened across the picture and felt a little wistfulness, then just keep it to yourself. Or if there was someone who was there with you, just share the damn picture with your friend. What’s the point of publicly exhibiting it?

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