i had a wishlist lying somewhere and one day, i got down on my knees looking for it. it had been in my heart for a very long time and suddenly i couldn't find it. i spent a good year looking for it and when i finally found it, i realised it was different from the wishlist i'd lost. i didn't know whether to cry or laugh at this change in events. i scanned the long page with a cursor in my head and realised that there were many things i had no idea how to do.
i sat down hard on my hard backed chair and pulled out a clean paper. and i picked up a pen from the drawer of my old mahagony table. i didn't know what to write, so i looked outside a window nearby. i saw my well manicured garden and my ornate gate. neither of which invoked any inspiration. i was almost astonished at this. i always prided myself in borrowing ideas (or just plainly stealing someone else's).
i walked out of the room and onto the plush blue carpetting adorning the rest of the house. my feet sunk in and it felt very warm. that, too, did nothing to inspire me. then, i came upon my large gold mirror and i ran my finger halfway around its circular surface (i am too short to run my finger all the way around).
i wandered into the large, stately rooms, the exquisite hallways, down the stairs and into the living room. i stood at the doorway of the living room and took in the division that made one half into the television area and the other into the lounging area. i slowly walked through into the dining area. before i got to the kitchen, i rushed up the stairs and sat back on my desk. remorsefully, i chided myself.
the lack of inspiration ran all around me. everything was perfect. how could i make a wishlist when everything lay produced around me; with no contribution by me. it had all been handed in a diamond platter to me.
should i want it? aceept it? or redicule it? the answer lay in that blank sheet of paper still before me. it was blank and i was going to start filling it. for i needed my wishlist.
my OWN wishlist.