A windfall

Someday, someone will uncover this,

tucked within the undisturbed pages,

eagerly waiting to be discovered.

Long-forgotten tales dissipate with change, vanishing into the currents of time. I ponder the fate of ours. One day, I might deliberate on meticulously documenting the events, while on other days, I push away the notion of piecing together those moments. They're akin to holding a delicate butterfly, with just enough tension to grasp and enough slack to let go. But in reality, what do I truly possess when my hands are empty?

Could it be deemed a windfall, pronounced above all?

Psychic Dissonance

If I toss some letters your way - P S Y C H I C D I S S O N A N C E - whether arranged or abrupt, and instruct you to create all three, four, and five-letter words from them.

Hold on.

What's that term again?!

Anagram?

I can't remember what is it called.

~

Every morning when I wake up, the first thing I reach for is the newspaper. Bombay Times, typically on page 5-6, mostly on the left page. It provides everything you need to engage your brain: mind-benders, comics, Scrabble, crosswords, and astrology. Every morning, I eagerly look for them, solving them, jotting down the words, and absentmindedly smiling at Calvin, Nancy, & Garfield.

Similarly, my brain has been a whirlwind of thoughts - thoughts that refuse to depart, thoughts that won't stay. Habits are much the same; once you get into the rhythm of something, it whirls you back to the same place where you started, until you're dizzy.

But for the mind, there's a conflict, an irresolvable conflict - with intellect, Psychic Dissonance.