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Why do I see myself down there? Down in the ruins of an unfathomable grave. Is this me speaking? Speaking from the shamble I created for myself. Disowned in the blatant reality of life, Prospero's wands are not shooting a divine abracadabra to heal me up. Macbeth's fairies are not soaring up to predict “greatness” for me there. But still I look up there. Trying to extract the hope from where I have been thrown out. It is not for the first time I had fallen from the ladder. “Had I been repeatedly so unlucky like you, I would have given up”, says one of my closest friends. But I don't give up. As if I can't. I never had.
Loss has been inherent in me since half a decade. But I had not been always on the other side of destiny's wrath. I had my own time. My own days of glory. My own cherished days of love. My own days that might be coming up. As I stand here amidst my ruin, I boast of it. Of my upcoming days. Days where I will be living for myself. Days where I would not be thrown in ruins after sacrifices I made. Days where I would not have to see from the depths of my ruins, people basking in the glory of my sacrifices. And I am being laid standalone in a place wondering where I would be led to; wondering if this mess of mine would go on and on. Can these ruins ever end? Sometimes I perceive, the deep graveyard is just being dug and I am being thrown out there? But this feeling cannot sink in within me as it would not be me who would be trying to be myself thereafter.
