August and everything after

i don't know what to write any more. from august to august, my blog comes a full circle. from one monsoon to another, this new identity has survived, unlike the one on wordpress. i don't know if it's just that this was easier to handle and that wasn't. i don't know if it was because i became obsessed with the need to record and record and record in the bygone year, lest i should forget what i was like when the rain of 2009 was on and how it sowed the seeds of transformation in me. and yet, i don't know what to write anymore. i can't turn to the rain for inspiration anymore. i'm only losing my way through the night when i sit-up and listen to this pitter-patter.
and right now, i ask myself if writing has made sense at all. if August, and everything after will ever make sense for anyone but me. and if it's at all possible to live every year, waiting for it to be August so that the peak of monsoon, when it washes out rural homes, sweeps down roads and carries people away will still bring you back to me.