All way long you thought there’s a light at the end of that tunnel. You spoke to yourself. Wrote blogs about it. Facebooked it. Gtalked. Told your best girl friend that things are going to be fine with her, when secretly you knew it’s something you need to tell yourself. Everything had an answer, in your mind. But none of them seemed to translate into reality. And the tunnel, just didn’t seem to end.
You coined terms, found the inner meaning and even caught yourself floating in meditation. Every time you cried yourself to sleep, a new answer was revealed. And yet, the pain lurked. More questions arose. And the verdict found you guilty. Guilty of stepping into this mess. Self-respect was greek. And sensibility, latin.
What made you love yourself some day was soon becoming an obligation. A formality, that couldn’t be curbed. If the world wants you to play, you ought to be a sportsman. If your mind’s playing games, you have even better reason. Just do it.
Butterflies may go to sleep, dark corridors may get uncomfortable and the ‘moment’ may last for nothing longer than one. Yesterday becomes a mistake, togetherness a routine and love, nothing more than a slip of the tongue.
With reasons to justify every action, all that you’re left with is an undying feeling of disgust. The truth being, nothing remains worth an explanation. And till the day you find yourself again, you’re left to feel dense, idiotic and unpardonable.