It’s like……. the path
crossed me. The wrong path. At the right time.
it’s like the world of possibilities heralding its doors to me, me
knowing well that neither of them leads to the opportunity I’ve been searching
for. It’s more like anticipating from the wrong clouds to rain gathered en masse up in the wrong corner when the met has crucified the chances of it.
It’s more like praying the bizarre prayers to the falling stars when you know
for certain that no amount of star shower can revive your lost wishes.
How many mistakes does one need to go through to get to the
right answer? Don’t I get tired? Why can’t I just choose to ignore results or
better just quit playing once for all so
as not to agitate myself looking at the contradictory theories or game-plans
that I’ve managed to chalk out in my year book so far? But I cant. Whenever I
take the wrong turn it seems to welcome me with its arms thrown wide open, so
endearingly, so passionately, so in a way that makes me feel that this is it,
that I hastily surrender and that is when exactly I wake up bumping into some
same old folly of mine that I thought has ceased to exist in me anymore… and
voila … it is the same old wrong mistaken path that I realise I can but should
not keep treading along. Trust me. Its not my fault. Had it been deliberate you
could have accused me of that. but it wasn’t. How desperate I can now be to
prove that little fact that only I know. Because it’s just that I don’t have
the perfect alibi that sets me off it I can’t be vilified as well. It may come
to you why I choose to take the wrong turn and choose to pass the road sign in
the first. But do you really have an answer to why you choose to get freaking
drenched in the rain knowing it may cause you a fever, cost you a fortune,
bring you the menace of dealing with pneumonia just before your exams or an
Office presentation?
I keep rewinding and playing all that has happened in the
weird space that we shared. All I get is a little more fizzled out picture of
that. I try to hold on to that but it slips out right before my eyes befooling
me everytime I try harder. But what I have and will have for sure of all those
shares are the memories. They keep getting stronger, strongly founded
everytime I try to erase them. So I have given in. no more deleting. Preserve
what I’ve got so far. Beautiful girls, cool moments, hot once as well, breezy
lone times, crying over spoiled milk, worrying over spilling milk and rejoicing
the boiling of it as well. Things went past, some slowly, some faster than I’d
expected. But when I look back upon them (this sentence should definitely not
insinuate that I am at the edge of my erratic and erotic journey, brooding with
shrunken misty eyes for good lord, please) I find a lover in me…who loves to
love and loves to be loved… and believe me with all those broken heart pieces
that I’ve managed to tape together again and again… I see myself as a hero!
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