Ten thousand words, are stretched upon the vast expanse of time
I've spent revising what is lost. And I’ve discovered the gems of past time,
encrusted deep within the memory of my machine, unfiltered, and undoubtedly me.
They follow the bliss, just like a summer song. These words
take me back to a time germane to the voice that rose and fell in the deepest,
darkest crevices of my heart. These are the gaps I could fill with nothing more
than edifying words - I am a goddess, you are a heretic. When has it
ever done any good?
Though the silent accusations
spilled hastily on 23rd September, followed by intense happiness on 24th, makes
me wonder, if anything that is put out in haste, true or just a negation and
that's it? Are words only exploited to satiate an insatiable cupidity for life?
There are ten thousand deleted
bits, and a hundred half finished stories - all lost to restiveness. I'm caught
in a never-ending maze of unreality, for I fail to come up with something that
is real. I have a fixed idea of what I should be feeling, no matter what the
situation is, for facts fail to faze me. Just like you fail to faze me with
your pronounced weirdness, trying to obfuscate an idea that is so inherently
engineered into your being that you end up being nothing but ordinary. Just like
my words. You're trying to hide what is real, and substantive. Press delete,
and do it all over again?
You're incomprehensible,
just like a really tough reading comprehension on an English test. Are the
answers even there?
Ten thousand words have been
fixed on an idea or two. And I've sketched my whole life in a paragraph; mostly
in the space that is void of any words. Because how can I ever, ever, figure
out what goes there? I am complicated, and vague, and a hypocrite. I move in
circles with my words, in a garden inundated with my impatient thoughts. What
do I pick, when one is synonymous with the other?
I have written a story, which
is riveting to only those who are ethically compromised. And I don't mind this
moral failure. How could I? But they know why I don't simplify myself; because
I'll fall apart if I did.
But let me remain so. Let me keep
pilfering notions from my own banal philosophy of life.
