It is interesting to think that every story has a universe of its own. A universe where anything is possible. A universe where facts don’t necessarily mean facts and assumptions could sometimes have more truth in them than expected. A universe where you could momentarily get lost and vicariously experience all the fantasies that reality doesn’t permit you.

Every time I turn another page and get lost into another universe, I think to myself of the universes I’ve created; or more recently, the lack thereof.

See, I open a new document and I type out a few words till suddenly my train of thought just stops. I’m left there with an incomplete sentence, an empty verse. A few days later, when I open another document to write, my attention goes to those left hanging. Should I lift them off the ground, pull on their strings and let them take flight? I only think as much till I revisit them, feel myself unable to drown in the verses and leave them hanging mid-air.

Now, you would judge me. As I do myself.

But who is to blame when one gets lost in their own universe?