The blinking cursor offers some solace. At least you have your words. You could write a thousand dreams and yet the pages won’t finish. You could write as fast as their words or as slow as your thoughts when you have woken up in the morning. The tea doesn’t help, never has. But then it’s worth a shot, just like that relationship that’s no more.
So you have another old wound opening up right in front of you. The person whom you gave all the love and respect at one point of time in life suddenly seems to be the very person to kill you. It’s like a lost battle, really. Like the very insect that walks across the bright monitor thinking it has found the warmth of a flame. But the light will be gone and it will be dead by the time morning ushers in.