Her and the sorts of her.

Walking towards the office he's waiting for the signal to go green to cross the road. It hit him then, standing there with random strangers hoping for a slight bit of affection even if it was from someone he barely knew. At this point, for him, anyone would suffice to kill the lonely. So an inner monologue in a very familiar voice started playing in his head which went like,

Looking for someone like her I scorched the earth in one single blow,

left alone with my thoughts, it made me stoop real low.

Maybe a pair of eyes that seemed to have the same glitter,

I started chasing strangers, without a breath and without even a flicker.

The girl at the newspaper stand around the corner sipped her coffee the same

then there was my subway flirt who had a similar-sounding name.

An office colleague who cooks a little like her,

and one more who recites poems of love so I made her my whisperer.

There was yet one more I spoke to in secret but a while later bit the dust,

after that came another, I only kept to dim my lust.

I gave into weakness and then went to an old lover with an exceptionally desperate soul,

splattered more dirt on me, and dug further into my own hole.

Sweetheart, a coward never reflects within, then now and always,

I hide from myself, so you might find me without love, sticking to the walls of ghastly hallways.

Told myself each morning that what I always do is fair,

I try to forgive myself every day, but I never really get there.

And then he cried, terribly so.

"I do think in reality we, well most of us, deliberately hold on to the sins we've committed because it strangely makes us feel we did something real. More than anything, I think we are scared of choosing happiness just because of the fear that it won't last forever or that it might be taken away. We revisit our mistakes just to prove to ourselves that we did not make the right choice with that person from the past. Our rose-tinted glasses come off and we see how much we've actually screwed up!

We first react and burn everything to the ground out of fear, then repent the rest of our lives for setting fire to things that we thought we loved.

So we desperately cling to the things we've done wrong or the guilt of hurting people we once thought we loved or maybe just running away because we thought we were saving ourselves. Tell me how else otherwise do most of us feel alive, if not with the false sense of liberty that it's okay to repeat our very own mistakes?"

Something to think about.

But until next time,

Love always,

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