Affair with Life

Alive I am. Still.

It has become very easy to die in this world while being alive. Just spend enough time with the wrong people and you will have some of your best features peeled off and then replaced with horrendous moods.

It has become so natural to walk mindlessly, without observing the miracle of life.

Sometimes, it feels I have become the unspirited, monotonous adult I have always resented. The one that knows where everything goes, what time, how much and for how long should it matter.

Do we all convert into these routine monsters, who have no rain to sing into, no awake nights, no love to gift without attached expectations?

We only have requests. And deadlines. And the absurd belief that we are entitled. We should know the outcome of the every step. Ours and preferably other’s. We don’t allow ourselves a little unknown.

Paradoxically, I don’t know where I am on the map. I have travelled so often and left pieces of me everywhere, that now I find myself broken into millions of drops and incapable of ever recomposing myself again.

So, please, today … just give me a sky with a moon melting its glow over me. Pour me a glass of silky night and welcome my deserted days to sing to me.

Only for today, tell me that alive I am still and that I shall never really die.

One thought on “Alive I am. Still.

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