Tuesday, June 25, 2013


Chock-full of sentiment is the air. Heavy and opaque, it settles down and crawls near the floor. Forever shifting, never spreading. At least, not until a gust of wind creeps in and whips around the remains of a day or a life strung together like pearls on a painfully delicate gossamer thread. I see more valour in fragility than anything else now; the mere fact of an existence being an affront to probability, odds or fate. There's a fire in me that continues to rise. I stand beneath this dark sky and feel it course through my veins. I stand at the edge, my body steeped in a heady brew otherwise known as thrill, and prepare to take flight. 

I've seen enough change now to know that given enough time, even this world stops disguising its narcissistic need to repeat itself.