Vision Through A Broken Glass

Why we don’t get the love we think we deserve? Maybe it seems too vile or blunt, maybe you think of me as a deprived, miserable or at some degree desperate. But that’s just false judgment based on the only understandable words I was able to fathom to write down this agony. It amazes me how sometime life turns its ways, a play where you’re not certain that climax is at the end of it. It can be at the start or at the very moment where you think life is flowing like a peaceful river, so calm that it almost sound still. And so clear that you can almost see the boulders at its bottom.

What we imagine when we think about a well contented, fully nourished life? I used to imagine myself sitting in some dull corner of my room, looking out through the window. sky picturing a vivid art, where at the horizon bright orange fused with blistering wine red and clouds freshly floured and cut into equal pieces spread equally along the amalgam. And to encapsulate this whole wondrous phenomena the dull and mournful sky extend endlessly around them. The room boozed with the slow pace and low pitch voice of some melancholic song. But it’s not enough, nothing’s ever enough. You talk about love like you’ve the only one that ever been in love. You debate pain like your pain is the most barbaric.