Backspace.

If you write often you'll realize nothing is more frustrating than penning down your thoughts when your mind is unstable. It is almost as if you have to chase your mind down, make it sit with you in front of the machine, and make it narrate stories which you would want others to read. And even then, you keep hitting backspace, wondering if this story will appeal to anyone out there. It's like your mind is an overbearing boss who makes you write shitload of sentences and then keeps on compelling you to hit backspace. Exhausted, you save the unfinished story in drafts waiting for a suitable time and place to finish what you started in your head.

But this torture does not limit itself to the blogs and the machines, it happens everywhere. If you're even a tad bit antisocial, you'd understand.

You sit with all your 'favourite' people around you, sipping your drinks, while your mind is lost somewhere in he haze of cigarette smoke. So much liquid courage around you, and not a word to say. Each time someone asks you to speak up, you have to chase your mind down and bring it to the table.

And then your mind finally arrives, sits down with you, and makes you think of the most amazing stories, but then makes you hit backspace.

So, you sit quietly, starting and backspacing all these things you want to say to everyone out there but you keep sipping your drink quietly, accumulating drafts for the proper time and place.

The mind keeps on warning you to go deep into the drafts, dig out some stories, and start narrating like a pro, otherwise these 'friends' won't consider you cool enough, fun enough, chill enough. But it just never happens.

And then you start thinking, if you'd be at home right now, you could type all of this down, backspace it or save it in the drafts, nobody would care. You could always chase your mind down the next day, make it sit with you and try to narrate stories that never seem to take the perfect form.

Is it shameful to feel more comfortable around non living things than around people with heartbeat and pulse? Is it a shame for them for not being able to compete with materialistic things for your comfort zone?

Well, so you keep sitting on your table, drink after drink, backspacing everything on your mind, till it goes blank. They drop you home after you pass out on the backseat of their car. As you collapse on the bed, your mind tries to chase you down to think of all the things you could have said, but you don't seem to care anymore.

Finally drowned in the same liquid courage and disappeared in the haze of cigarette smoke, you call it a day.