Lost

I have lost the ability to craft meaning from words. There no longer exists any magic while connecting words together to make sensible statements. Language has deserted me. And why shouldn't it? Rusting unburnish'd had seemed to be a sin to Ullyses. Here I am unburnish'd and rusted, tipping the scales closer to the 'Rot' mark. Things have changed a lot in so short a span. I once remember the Fox telling me about a movie (or was that a story?) where a man lives his life in reverse chronology. He would unlearn all that he had learnt, and become a day younger every day he woke up to see the sun shining on his face. I am growing old. And at a pace which I didn't foresee. And as the days roll on, my body is becoming weaker, and my mind is becoming duller. Four years ago, I was a better man. I feel ravaged by the elements today. Hardly can I contend 'me' from the past in any field of contest. Those closest to me still linger on, like the dried up petals of the rose, or rather the faithful bumble bees who wait to see if the curling flower somehow revives and relives its halcyon days, although the rot has visibly set in. Surrounded by faces which find it difficult to reconcile with the changes happening to their familiar one, I feel kindred to Kafka's Samsa when his transformation was complete. I no longer live all the time. I relive it most of the time. Every second, some action or vague symbol would spark in the recesses of my memories nostalgic thoughts. I live in the present past. Its heart rending always, to know that everything you do, has already been done, by you. There is no force better, to amplify the sense of rot that is seated deep in the core of your being.