Is it a dream I am chasing, an image or a shadow of the past? A fleeting moment of magic, spellbound by a smile, a glance or a delicate motion: a disposition, a manner of speech.
Time, we sacrifice them in our pursuit. All comes to nothing: wasted youth, wasted love. I have smirked at the folly many a time, yet find myself entangled in similar webs of emotions, plucking the rose petals one by one: “she loves me, she loves me not!”
Depression, with esteem gone, heart mutilated by dejection, envelopes the culpability of self. As penance, a crack of the whip to better and forget oneself, and more, at least for a while then it’s back to square one. Yet, in disharmony, the desire to be accepted for what you are, not on your accomplishments, the material gain awaiting, the security of a future, of a home, free of financial burden. Alas, the world has changed; most guys see it, the gals, ever lucidly. So we slog away for meagre riches, as corporate slaves, to see who bring the most bread home to attract the sexiest, fairest mate. And it becomes a game for men and women. Or perhaps it has always been around, just that the rules have bended to the gravity of drunken success.
P.S: This is one of those pieces I've dug out from my harddisk. Does it even make any sense? Well, you be the judge...the future me that is...
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