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Life through a 50% perspective
It's moments like these when the mind busts with ideas but words just can't pin 'em down. Ideas float, but no avail to whatever they might mean. Standing amidst myriads of thoughts, lost... Limbs are getting heavy but light at the same time... God how I wish I was not alone this time. No matter what she looks like just the feeling of being home, no need to run, no urge to go, BEING CONTENT. There is no one to talk to, but even if there was what words should be said. Is there any phrase left unsaid, anything that has not yet entered anyone else's mind? Life as the repetition of thoughts overthrown by better knowing. Why write? Why talk? Why live --- again? Hope floats, its frail, but it dies last? What when life excelled hope? No sense, just being – hurt – for no reason – go to bed or finish the bottle? Go figure...
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