You know some people, they are like barren land. Vast, sorrowful, grieved. The mud that forms their skin loses life and gains the gloom of empty, fruitless desert. They breath dry mud. Instead of blood, they have misery flowing through their veins. Barren land and barren people, both are hopeless. Unwanted.
When rain falls down on them for an instant, it gives birth to hope. A dangerous feeling it is. It kills with the most blunt knife ever. Hallucinate you with dreams and then break these with it’s own fist, into your eyes. The shards of glass cut through the eyeballs, blood falls drop by drop, for centuries. Yes centuries.
May be if hope wasn’t there at the first place, life would have been smooth. It is easy to develop habits and live by these, whether of painful moments or living forever in the dark. It is simple to go with the flow, with no flowers and sunshine, if one hasn’t EVER seen flowers and sunshine. Going back after taking a long journey is tiring. Really tiring.
Have you ever experienced the torture, when your fingers cry and eyes can’t ? When your heart yearns to vomit out pain but your eyes, they don’t let it no matter how much that sting. No matter how much your mere existence pricks you like a thorn. No matter how much you want to put a pistol on your head and shoot without any pause, but you can’t. You just can’t.
You feel lonely in the middle of a crowd. Rain falls from the sky but leaves you dry. Green leaves of spring turns to yellowish orange ones of autumn around you. Chilly winds suffocate you. You can’t breathe. In that moment, no one knows how much, HOW MUCH you want to close your eyes and die in peace.
But you can’t. You just can’t.