I would never ever say that I’m bleak, feeling alone or get perturbed by my life or world. I well know that I have to compete with the life with all the potency, strength and power I posses.
Then why? Why some times I wish I was a character of a fable created by a heroic novelist. I don’t want to be weak and collapse heroin of some brainless love story. Not wanted to become the aimless dream of an aficionado. I want something else….maybe different.
I am not craving for fun, I want thrill. I don’t know, who are the people who want stay and consistence in their lives. Or may be thrill, adventure and escapade are the words of fantasy and fable. Why there is not always happiness hidden in pleasure. May be I’m not in search in contentment I wish for complete contentment and gratification. May be death can give that. I am not hopeless instead I odium and disgust the word “PARADOX”
Why this weird agitation? Like there is nothing and we are making the assumption of everything. Standing before the mirror and feeling the odd strangeness towards your own self. May be in a try to know everything I’m futile to know my own self. Or may be I segregate my own self. I don’t want to follow I want to create my own paths and there are dozen of things I ruin in crafting them.
I want liberty, leisure not long. Just leisure of some moments, some mins where I have my mind free when it has enough leisure time to select my choice of thought in mist of my broken images.
Indeed the sorrows are the real essence of life. But why, when the equinox returns the spring does not come with full bloom. Why the happiness is always incomplete, it has a hint of sorrow in it. I hate the incompleteness of things…………………
