As i write this, my senses of day and night have gone vague The last week went like a whistle, as it starts with a minute pressure of wind gushing from the mouth and go on with a high frequency sound denying gravity, flow and ambience. The last week as it cane it went too fast, faster than even my happiness as it reach me but the echoes of the sharp whistles stayed.
My life was even more chaotic and well lit that my pit got much brightened with the light of hope.
They say "hope is a good thing, actually the best one and good things never die." My beliefs are similar but what dies is the heart, the pores and the layers of muscle soaked in red blood when ruthlessly shoved with the dark side of the hope, it dies, moment by moment, day by day and what it leaves are the songs of war, hummed right after the defeat.
My heart it loves you, it craves for you, it longs you, but what it gets is the light of hope, the bright self created, self satisfied light blistering the possibilities of my never achievable dream.
It's and it be you, always you, no matter if we change planets and the world goes on a hunt for me to change the mechanism of my heart, i l still run, run on all the swamps, pass through all the forest and will sit somewhere on a full moon night in the shed of creeks to set my eyes on the moon, to look at you, to embrace you and to self write a hope to run again till i find you, till i touch you and whisper,
"It's Always you!!"
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