Life is weird and I'm high.....

Life’s weird, and its ways – weirder. You spend years thinking you want to be someone, or be with someone and then when it actually happens, you realize this isn’t what you wanted from your life.

Life- a cipher that’s hard to interpret, harder yet to write.

It’s been a few years that I was in love. (I’m not the one to count). And after a heartbreak I’ve found my rhythm now (at least that’s what I think), And I can tell you this, It wasn’t easy nor it was hard. It was just different, the trip back from the city called love. And let me tell you this – I’ve been deeply touched, by its magic. Love is like a monster, sleeping deep inside you, resting after the ravages it caused the last time it was awake. And when it further awakes it would but consume your world in a never ending fury, and the thing about love is- You’d like it.

So here I am, thinking of what is, was and what could be. What I was? What I’ve become and what I would be? I think about it at times, but to no avail. Thinking doesn’t help. Believe me. It doesn’t help at all. All that ever comes out of such introspection is a conclusion. And a temporary one at that (Like you wanted to eat choco vanilla ice cream but it isn’t available and you are then forced to settle for strawberry instead). So I had a few choices. Be depressed, or be suppressed or to be liberated. Now, I am not an escapist. But I’ve read enough physics to know that when there’s too much friction you need a lubricant. And that’s what I did, I do, and I would do.  Lubricate the machinery that they call mind in order to get a free flow of what they call thoughts. Now there are ways of doing things and I think I didn’t decide on one in particular, but simply chose the one readily available. Ease of access you see. Right or wrong? Who knows but god? I let him decide and I ask you to comment. Not on the habits but the very psyche of the deep rooted evil that emanates from one’s self every now and then to engulf existence, finally giving you relief and a lot more worries then you actually started with. We live, we die. But only a few are able to ask questions and make confessions. I’d do both. This is not the prologue, or a chapter of a novel that you might or might not want to read. It’s simply the experience of a man as common as you or him. Till then I hope you’ll keep giving me what I need most. The strength to tell, narrate and relate the truth.