Till I feel a little familia to this, I refrain accepting that it’s been a hell of a ride back and forth home. Closer to this broken heart is now a world I stand against; a place where dwelling on your own is a mistake less forgiven.
Something contradicts my past. That single moment itching me as to why things happen. Catching on the laughter and joy of nostalgia is the sole thing my mind does to stay cool. While the music is off, I sing and dance like I don’t see the chaos around. It’s to make sure I be myself at all times. My heart got trenched by the breeze of the shrewd new world and so solemnly I be the leader of it following the suit.
I beat my throbs with blood of failure, if all that I know is true in it’s form. Choice is a meagre idea of living. I want too much to be acceptable. I wish beyond what I can fulfil. I question as to why I was happy from the sham that the world had offered me. Atleast I succeeded even if everything was wrong! Now, I stand where the fair is over and it’s going to rain fire.
Something is unfair. Sometimes that was supposed to bring prosperity and satisfaction is nowhere in scene. Is it my idea of escaping the world? Or not accepting the destiny I’m supposed to follow? Or my want to sleep over luxury of the story that I fantasize? What’s that something exactly? A place, a person, an event, or just an idea? My exploration is closer to my find, I cannot but feel the tunnel approaching it’s end. It shouldn’t be as wasteful as I think it could be an idea so progressive that I surpass myself as as better human. It shouldn’t fill me with anxiety and repression. It should make me talk intrapersonally like infinitely. It’s failure to reach the ends of the road and it’s need to quench the thirst of motives of the day, I shouldn’t rely on hopes.
I’m happy. The search is on. It shall close. Now or never.
The Writers' Age 