my dear...







you are worthy of the purest and sincerest love the world could offer.

I think—
I think there was a man and a woman...
They were arguing.

Inside the man’s tightly curled fist
Rested a pistol
With his index finger slumbering on the trigger.

The woman,
Unalarmed, stepped forwards
Challenging the man.

He jumped in reaction,
The gun flailing along with his taut, strained arms.
The woman began to shout, when

An explosion of gunpowder
Cut open all the air


         And everything went silent.

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come

Everything is routine now. You get lost going through the motions. You wake up, you brush your teeth, you drive to work. You find yourself seeking temporary solace in the mundane moments. Your daily coffee. A customers compliment. A coworkers joke. You answer emails and engage in at least a few brief human interactions. You sit in traffic, you make dinner, you shower. You do some household chores and you maybe get to indulge in a tv show. You most likely have a vice but it is probably losing its allure by now. You maybe get a vacation once a year. Is this just adulthood or is this the rat race of life? How can I maximize my happiness? Where is all the joy? Where are my flashback “movie moments”?