I don’t know where to begin, even when things have come to an end. I keep asking myself, was I waiting for this doomsday to come ?
My soul reverberated, but you did know the end in the beginning itself.
Look at you, shredded into pieces, looking like a mess, hitting the adulthood with no intelligence or happiness.
I questioned my conscious, face to face, as if we were two different parties in conflict, a cast and a soul.
I’m not a child, but you know-even a child knows what he likes or not.
But I can’t defy my biological need to feel belonged and placed in this hierarchy. Then where am I in this race?
Am I an adult with a low emotional quotient or it’s just a pitfall of being a regular one. How do I find out ?
Was there a lapse in my moral teachings or I haven’t communicated enough to know, that this happens to everyone.
I’m done loving, I wish to unlove.
Is this easy ?
Boy, No !
I find reasons to leave, to not call, to run away, to not show up, to consciously ignore, because I know I don’t have the guts to say ‘ Yes, I love you ‘, anymore.
What If conquers my mind, each time I think of doing so.
What if, that person isn’t into me, what if, I ruin the existing vestige of friendship, what if, I wouldn’t be able to handle this rejection?
I know the answer, I just don’t want to pose a Question.
Because hearing something makes it a reality, but listening to your voices in head, can be easily dismissed as unreal.
Why can’t you hate a person you love?
As a defence mechanism maybe..
But then I question myself , is this moral ? – but in reality, I’m done think of morality. If it shall help, I’m ready to dive in.
Sadly, the answer is no.
If you really love them, you can’t hate them. If it’s an infatuation or a mere issue of bloated-ego, you’ll move on easily.
It’s a litmus test for true love.
I’m done writing / speaking.
Wait, Wait, Wait !
Is something off with my narrative, maybe the, character, beginning or the end ?
Or were you also hoping for an explicit ending ?
Pardon my effort for waking you up; that’s life.
Completion is a myth, being incomplete is the reality.