So it is..

 

How convenient, I write—after so long, when feeling distraught…when the same pain, the ongoing feeling of worthlessness; what is this existence but a painful remembrance. No! you ought to be grateful I say…

It’s not even the whispering, these thoughts…try as I might, these invading storms terrorising my recluse. I lay, still and unmoved yet inside my head—madness. Invoking discomfort, taking what little peace I still have. Again, I lay motionless unable to sleep it off. I stay awake the whole night but no longer in a panic state—just a reminiscence of the older self, the familiar feelings of weakness and frailty. I see sleep as my only escape and…that I am deprived of.

However, coming to terms to my being, being a mature and experienced being, lucky I am—to not be a total wreck. A wreck, but not in totality and the storms presents itself only when the tide is high with unruliness.  

Who would’ve thought that after all these years and as I keep rambling on, after all these years and yes, after all these years…I keep asking why, after all these years, I live in perpetual fearfulness?! The moment I wake up, I am reminded of weakness.

All those books read and the side-notes and quotes I’ve written down to attain knowledge and wisdom had only made me realise my inadequacy; never clever nor strong enough.

I look at the world and I am not sure what to feel, grateful or sad?

Majority of the people akin to the foams in the sea, living their lives in a flimsy, shallow, hedonistic bubble, well forget people…look at the mirror.

A flower however, in it I see perfection, the richness of its colour, beautifully blooming even in the wake of my looming, perfection from a distance but when in my hand, it loses its splendour. Alas! it only lives for a few days and dries out and withers away.

Soon enough it blooms again. An appeasement, flowers blossoming as I walk past them…it may seem like I ignore them, but I wish they never stop radiating and, in their radiance, spread out a tiny bit of hopefulness.

 

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