Moments of solitude are sometimes those of utmost joy. The silence, the breeze, all encompassing, all consuming. Everything in life seems to come to a gentle standstill. For those that spend their lives for others, without purpose, without drive, like me to an extent, it means a lot.

We tend to connect ourselves to people and objects for no reason. There is no reason for liking, there is no reason for love. When things are beutiful in their own solitary self, its an over whelming feeling.

There should be no dependables, just silence, solitude.

I hold a dagger to myself, smiling, knowing that there is an end, an end i love, knowing that the life i want, but cannot have, will always remain a dream. I still want that silence, that life, for no apparent reason.

It gives me pain to know that i cannot have what i truly love. it gives me joy, with hope, that what i cannot have may, per chance, have a better life without me.

When you have seen it inside and out, when you have felt it in the vibe that radiates from your proximity, you have seen it all. Its nothing, but a silent story. A silent true story which will remain a dream. The dream has been written, decided upon and will be played, and i will be the spectator.

The sight of the stage drives the dagger deeper into my soul, the pain is sweet, so i shall consume it. It could have been sweeter, but when there are things you cannot change, there is no point complaining about it.

For some reson or the other, there is no way i can bring myself to accept the truth in its entirety. I want it for myself, but wish its freedom.

Its a pain that gives pleasure, its a pain i want.

Hoping that the pain would not exist is not an option. Whats done, is done.