Curse

Call it a malediction, or a curse. It doesn't matter. The ethereal cool air those nights, succulent with the most dulcet and sweetest of breeze, coupled with the occassional blink of sunlight, made me forget where I placed my preciouse pencil case. Imbued with jejune languor, I refused to believe I've lost it till today. I was right to think so. It was like this loquacious whisper that was also like a neverending drum, always adumbrating to me that I've lost it, every hour, every minute. And I spent the dear $30 today to restock an inventory with a $9.95 case. And then by the end of the day, like some sneaky little mouse that had surreptitiously creeped up on my shoulder, it dawned to me that it was possible after all that I've misplaced it. And then my brother revealed the greatest plan, like the epiphany that had dawned upon Newton, that it was all along in the car. Distraught, hackened with pain and sorrow, I could only sit dumbfounded, inuring to the mellifluous warm words of "Ten Years" erstwhile.