Some days it just kills me on the inside to be where I am, where I could have been or perhaps where I wanted to be. I'm most uncertain about where I see my eyes into an eternal dream but I'm most certain where I do not want to be i.e. jail-hood. Sometimes it's like the longest itinerary to have been planned by fate; to freedom, to faith, to unroll tears back into the eyes of the beholder.
Tears of widowhood, utter painful long wait to nothing but the memories of people who exist and yet don't. Far away from places of the people where once shone a glee into the grey grieving cloud of nothing but the clutches of aloof fate - ironically merciless. Living in the perilous times, never before so utterly unpredictable in the period of transition with belief in progress to the pushing edge of the realm of the unknown, joylessly, disillusioned, and with no hope. In the state of widowhood, possessed of the harrowing devastation of one who set out on life's course joyously in intimate comradeship with another, and then is bereft of that companion until forever. Satire.
“Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star.
It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago.
Maybe the star doesn't even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.”
― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun
Tears of widowhood, utter painful long wait to nothing but the memories of people who exist and yet don't. Far away from places of the people where once shone a glee into the grey grieving cloud of nothing but the clutches of aloof fate - ironically merciless. Living in the perilous times, never before so utterly unpredictable in the period of transition with belief in progress to the pushing edge of the realm of the unknown, joylessly, disillusioned, and with no hope. In the state of widowhood, possessed of the harrowing devastation of one who set out on life's course joyously in intimate comradeship with another, and then is bereft of that companion until forever. Satire.
“Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star.
It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago.
Maybe the star doesn't even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.”
― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun
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