'In essence, we become what we believe'. Many have said this in their own bejewelled words. Some ever so entangled in their own myriad blemishes, some ever so detached.
Sometimes perhaps, that is why it is easier
to deceive ourselves. And truer. It is at those ambiguous moments unhinging
becomes more important than ever. The lock however became rusty in all the time
you never paid attention, sanctimonious in the charade of safety it cozened you
into. The lack of the serenade is perhaps the bane and the boon, then. It
settles as much as it unsettles. Truth be told, there ain't any, my friend. All
that glistens may well be gold, but you never wanted gold to begin with.
Somewhere in the bigger picture, the smaller one shied away.
Chronic dissatisfaction, hence. Sometimes,
we pick snakes in the guise of twigs, some other times, we mistake the sugar
for the sweetener. Then we let the insulin kick in.
Life goes on. C'est la vie, princess.
