Unbridled

There's something to be said about typing. The staccato rhythm of keys clanging against the keyboard somehow soothe me. This how a promise sounds like. The promise of letting the soul become unbridled again. Even if it is for a short while. Unbridled from the daily hum drum, the decorum of an adult life. And every time it becomes even more difficult to break away from the chains.

Ever have this feeling of wanting to hold on? It was once a brimming couldron of thoughts from which I could magically twirl out contents. Then it was reduced to a boiling couldron and I had to struggle to get things moving. Since the past year, it seems to have become dormant. I feel as I don't have anything much say. I live in constant fear of acting 'legitimate'. Something which would be relevant to my age and stature.  Why is it that as we grow older, we pull ourselves back even more? Whatever happened to living life to the fullest? Why do we get embarrassed at the slightest excuse? Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we strap ourselves so tightly in so that the straps start digging in our shoulders? When does the reactions of a roomful or a train-full of people, strangers no less, matters more than what you want? What if someday we forget where the keys to the locks we impose on ourselves are kept?