The end of assumption.

A tilted aspiration of sorts. Wanting to be who you know you wouldn't want to be. But you would be that anyway. Because that's how you always thought you should be. And by now there are too many assumptions and prejudices involved behind those dreams to be altered otherwise. All the rights and wrongs have been decided long ago. Like this life has been lived in totality in the past. All that is going on in the present is just a reflection of that hallowed past of righteous assumptions. Of what should and shouldn't be. So much tied by fixations I am that life feels more static than dynamic. More absolute than relative. Terms and conditions are too many. And my happyness is a function of a plethora of factors. Many of those factors I am not even aware of until they exit my life suddenly. Blatantly. As if just to mock me for taking them for granted.

For once, I have a tiny wish. If only I could live in moments. And not the way I do, in lapses, deciding first what I want to be, and then regretting what I couldn't become. I wish I could forget, erase all my assumptions. And begin and end every breath as if it were the only one. Seems utopic.  But now that all the threads of survival that held me together like a cobweb, have snapped off, I wish I could take up the liberty to make this tiny, teeny-weeny wish.

Somehow, the ridiculousness of everything catches on. I understand how much the joke is on me. But still can't make myself to accept and change. Recover from shock for that matter. I just can't. I am so much in shambles that now I don't want to gather myself together and walk away. If that be the only viable escape. I would lie this way, abandoned by fate. Forgotten, left behind. I am too ashamed to face myself in the mirror. Forget about equally or unequally concerned third parties. Now it feels that my resilience wouldn't give up. And I would die with my assumptions intact. Those assumptions I was talking about earlier, in case you've forgotten. That's how badly they're rooted in me. Yeah. The plight is pretty sad, to be honest.

You don't know where to go, when your own definitions fail you. And I have no-one else to become that mine have failed me. 


The way  I walk, I could be walking into the past. If space were time i.e. If you could alter a few dimensions, a lot else would alter themselves. Relative becomes absolute. And absolute becomes relative again. The two keep swapping each other at such fast rates, you wouldn't know which is which. And get lost in a chaotic peace. But you're getting none of this anyway. That is the charm. That is the curse.

Life lives itself off in its if's and then's. But ultimately it survives the despite's. Sometimes that it goes on, and on despite all the despite's is the utter shock. The realization that you're still alive even when all your hopes and dreams and decaying down in the gutter somewhere, is the shock, the ugliest worst possibility. And yet, that is the beauty. And in a very ironic way, that only is the beauty. The resilience of survival, keeps proving itself again and again. Hence, I write this. Hence, you read this. And despite everything that is, we are. Not alive though, yet alive.

The way I walk, on rainy nights, all alone, opposite the traffic, with lights blinding vision, I could be walking into the past. Or the future. But the past is a hopeful illusion now, and the future, a fake promise. All that is, is thus the present. And I am stuck in it. Going nowhere, walking into nothing. Stuck, like paralyzed would be. The grey clouds, full of rain for many days to come, try to scare me away.

What they don't realize is that I am incapable of fear. I am incapable of any feeling, whatsoever. I know, the grey clouds, cage my stolen lover, my dreams, all I had. And left me impoverished. This way. But I am, despite.