They say spotting patterns is human tendency, the brain searches for traces of the past images or signals in the present and matching them up, becomes happy. Something like a simple fool who appreciates the way he arranges a set of colored cubes in a particular bizarre sequence, even after reaching the age of adult-ness. The pattern I have been a witness and perpetrator to in the past one month, also the time since I last wrote about my inner thoughts, has been one of running away. Not as much running as breaking free from the shackles of present, but that’s the idea.
Shackles of the present, there was a time when I used to adore these few words, they seemed like an escape into a world of fantasy of imagination. Neither too remote, nor implausible.
In a way, a pleasant distance away
on a windy Sunday afternoon.
However, as present catches up with the future and past seems light years away, the feeling of contempt, disappointing farcicality towards the fantasy and me increases. The gap between reality and hope widens, and the moment demands, orders me to take a side. Step this way or that.
The pathos lying in the fact and fear of seeing most people take the side of reality and betraying hope.