He knew very well he wasn’t a perfectionist and no one is. He was always rushing from one end to the other like the chipmunk who runs collecting nuts. He was always late wherever may it be. It was not his fault he was doing so many things that time was becoming a constraint.
He was running with so many things to win the rat race. He had forgotten what the dawn looked like. He would burn the midnight oil and push himself a bit harder every day.
He was a dreamer I vividly remember how he used to be in school always lost in his own world. Gazing outside the windows it seemed that he was talking with the trees. He used to look at them for hours and then scribble down something in his book.
But now he doesn’t have so much leisure, the shadows of responsibilities have overshadowed him he has accountability to answer. May be the education carved out the creativity from him or maybe he doesn’t have the time to write down.
I still see him he comes home late we both are so exhausted he throws me in the corner and jumps on the bed. Within a jiffy the room is filled with his snores. Again the next day he wakes up and rushes to the bathroom and within 15 minutes I am hanging on his shoulder ready for the long day.
He says no one knows his secrets but I know them all. He usually mumbles as he walks to the bustop and then he wears a fake smile and enthusiasm starts running in him when he sees people. He may pretend all is alive and kicking he is so jovial and full of life. People usually tap him on the back eventually hurting me with those dirty hands. But I don’t feel bad as this brings the widest smile on his face.
There is this part of the day which I hate the most. It is the evenings when he is sipping his tea. He is so frustrated he has so many tensions he keeps cursing himself believing he is not doing good. He hugs me so tight, I wish I had hands I would hug him back, I wish I had voice I would tell him ‘it’s allright’ , I wish I had hands I too would pat his back for all that he’s doing, I wish I had lips I would give him a peck on his cheeks just to cheer him up.
All I can do is sob all his tears in me. They usually dry over me leaving patches on me. But I don’t feel bad as this relieves all his pains.
I wonder what he’s doing why he’s doing? I have heard people giving him accolades, I have heard people shouting saying he is of no use. I have seen him throw me up in the air like a child and catch me back. I have seen him kick me hard just to get rid of his anger.
I am sure not even his best friend is as close to him as I am. He trusts me and keeps his weapons safe with him. Yes! I am his guardian. I am the guardian who guards his weapons the Pen and the Paper. I am not just an Ordinary bag, I am a Skybag that holds dreams that aim above the Sky.