Living with a dawdler

The blank paper looks at me asking, will I fill it with colors of my ink, today.

At times I see my books gawking, for the touch of my hand.


My running shoes smirk when I move them from one shelf to others, refraining their anger.


My coloring books peek through the piles of dust that have settled upon them over time, accusing me of neglect.


My wardrobe alarms me by letting the clothes fall on my face, tricking me into the web of the fixture.


My vanity box seeks my attention by opening itself every time I pass by.


My Camera is disappointed by my treatment and is ready to run away at the first exit.


My unread messages bubbling up to be tapped and replied, with an explanation.


The fruits on my table are dying and yet I profusely deny them the cure.


My phone balance cries as it desperately wriggles to get reduced to an accurate number.


My disheveled hair tries to push me to untangle them with the long untouched comb.


The chocolates in my fridge cabinet are waiting to get melted and dissolved in my taste.


My entangled thoughts want a release from the chaos, to float in the dust of the universe freely.


But I shun all of them,


And keep loitering around,


Sometimes in the visual word,


Other times in the dream world,


Often telling them,


To get accustomed,


With the life of a dawdler.

6 thoughts on “Living with a dawdler

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