Here I am again trying to forget the thing people called “past.” The rain is heavy outside and the coldness is blurring my window. Once in a while, there is a formation of all the dew, turning into a droplet. A droplet will wait for another small dew and it is ready to drop. I don't know why I'm giving attention to this small stuff and I don't like the idea of me being useless for a moment.

I am trying to switch my attention to the
writing I am finishing. For if I won't, fate may never permit me to find other good paying
online writing jobs. So, I retract from looking at the window and try starting a sentence. It’s been a while since I've been doing some freelance to earn. This time is different from the days I used to have; it’s hard for me to formulate an idea. Maybe it’s the topic, or its the weather. I just wish it is the weather.
The editor asks me to write about memories. I wanted to refuse the project because I am not fit to write on this. But, as the cliché goes, I am to write according to other people's purpose or have my own publication.
So, here I am writing something I have no idea about. For the past two hours, I've been reading sociology, psychology and blogs of people. Luckily, I pass by a page that says something about memory. Finally, something appeals to my heart. It says:
“Remembering is often suffused with emotion. It is an essential part of much reasoning.”
Standford Encyclopedia of Philosophy is successful in answering my problem, now I have something to write about. However, it gives me the feeling of terror. Remembering, emotion and reasoning, these three words, tells me that I can never go on without remembering and it scares me.
For the past 11 months, I have been trying to fill my mind with things that will give me neither love nor hate. My life has rotated on objective stuff, work and decision making that will direct the future. I have been passive participant of my own life. I guess I never really moved on.
I know the quoted part above is real and I know that it is out of my control.
Once again, I come near the window. The rain is over, and the dews on my window are all gone as if they never existed. There is no trace of anything, only my memory that once, it rained.
(picture from deviant art)
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