Under the open sky…with perfect cup of solitude
“Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young
In a world of magnets and miracles”
The clock almost hits 7:15 pm and I am having a sip of solitude under the open sky. Just a few minutes back, I could see streaks of clouds hovering as if they were waiting for me patiently. Now suddenly, the light’s out. The horizon barely sees the sun. City tainted with red-white colors. Under this dim light, as Pink Floyd keeps on echoing indefinitely, the world is not a miracle. There are myriad small creatures in my mind-cave that might escape someday.
The escape is inevitable. But I surmise that it’s, yet another, Sisyphian narration of my life. A life tangled in dissatisfactions. A storyline that seems disturbing, non-linear. Yet I try to hold onto this linear form of “self” that’s confused as ever.
A plane hovers above with a fixed destination. Birds seem dead this afternoon. Dogs aren’t there anymore. I see plants sway as their silhouettes converge into my reality.
What is now then? Life is mundane, unsatisfactory. No one seems to understand this self of mine, let alone how can I expect myself to expect it either?
It’s funny. It’s weird. Mostly contemplative. Sometimes I wonder how I would have been if I had high hopes often than I could imagine. I guess I could have ended up being less naive; the kinds that you get when you are engulfed of myriad small chains tugging you from everywhere.
It’s odd that this afternoon, today, is a perfect bliss of my solitude. I am not lonely. But, it’s might have been better with talking with a girl romantically. I have been vanishing each day. It’s a choice I have made to not lean on to anyone. That’s fine I guess.
Yet, I am a Paradox.
While I am writing these sentiments that represent the truest of my self, the other side is scary. Scary is lonely. Loneliness is scared, but not scarce. The duality of me is that while I most likely, can, enjoy (ever so possibly) my solitude, I still feel the necessity of a romantic partner. Every night I go to bed early. Every morning brings me back to life earlier than other people.
How good is life when no one is there to appreciate your Existence?
Is it even worth a life? You put out your thoughts with full value, yet the appreciations you get in return is highly attenuated (of course there are only a few I can count who seems to have certain things towards me)
How high should my hopes get when I want to be in a loop to have reality checks?
I guess it’s not even worth contemplating. Hope lies. Hope kills. In every other day, substantially and drastically, hope leaves like a love that left without any trace. Like a kite that got detached suddenly. You have the hold of the string, but nothing on the other side.
Like a Twilight that ghosts you when you emerge out under the moonlight. Like a bird that seems to form a figure of mystic dimension, as a silhouette, that I couldn’t possibly capture even if I tried.
As Comfortably Numb stitches itself as a backdrop, I am starting to feel numb. This numbness is hollow. As if the heart might go hollow. Hollowness everywhere. My self persists.
“Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying”
However, even if I moved lips, words don’t come out from my mouth.
They come to life, elvishly, in a way only I can capture.
I can’t possibly say anything, can I?
Wish my solitude could take a form in this reality like a drawing that can come alive if given an eternity to exist. The drawing never existed. I never had. I couldn’t possibly be around for eternity.
Yet, I feel I have been an eternal being generations to generations.
I guess that’s about it about hopes being high and numbness being comfortable.
I am my solitude. Solitude should persists in this paradox of my “self”. The dichotomy of Nish.
Oh, where was I? Raaodsn X-phi. Oh not. Wrong reality. The Mirror Girl?. Not yet.
I am opening some loops for now so that I can…