Dear Diary,
Life is lonely here.
Even if you will stay, the tides will rub you off. It’s like a gypsy soul is better these days. Nothing to care about, nothing to veil, and nothing to look back. I broke every way I once made, never did I tried to cycle back there, but they still. They are cruel, harsh, amateur, and path-bitten. Just when the phone rings, they jump and rush towards that shrill metallic sound of the call unknowing whose that is, what could it mean? After a while, all they hear is a prank call. What is such a kind of life, my dear?
I knew nothing before I was born and taking birth am I, daily.
I know nothing that’s going to happen tomorrow. Nobody tells me. I can’t interpret the language of the world. I am all in myself and that just breaks me apart. For how long can I separate the fine lines of emotions with them, there’s an indefinite soul, not mine. Not mine is the chance, this world has to get take and breath free, for I did, and now I suffer. Far beyond when I was cycling in the crawling people, they stared at me, kept their belief on me, and lent me water when I had paddled enough. All they wanted to be was me reaching my milestone. And see, now they ride with me thinking they ride fast! Smiling, innocent faces emerging out of doors which they once feared…
With this, I feel open to tell you the definition of everything.
Now, please listen to me; as I say you will believe me. “See, when you start from a zero paddle, and you reach a thousandth one, you realize that what you are doing is correct. A time when you reach a point when you realize that it’s the time to return back home, you think you have done a little something. Now, you are coming back. You have to come back. It’s halfway home and a sudden blink of an eye makes you realize what’s there back at home. Nothing. It’s the same point where I started. The displacement shall be zero. Nobody will get the slightest idea that I have accomplished something. Is it that important to publicize? No, but what’s the vacuum I’m feeling inside. I’m not tired at all. My bicycle is fit and fine but my mission is accomplished. I have lived my dream. People would prefer getting propelled by engines, showing off, and feeling extremely comfortable. But I did nothing of sort. I ride because that’s the way it is.
They will have to suffer someway later.
But I know they won’t. They will die before they even suffer. Enough with the people, enough with me; what’s all this for? WHY DID I ride? WHAT WAS CRUCIAL TO BE ACCOMPLISHED? WILL IT BE REMEMBERABLE IN COMING TIMES? Of course, not! I think it’s easy to be an artist and equally easy to be for a long time. For a long time, it could be a second, a day, month, year, or whole lifetime. I know nothing. Nothing at all.” Everything has an answer. This probably is the question for the answer I am looking out for. Think, my dear, if everything would have been so correct, why would anyone strive for better? “Everything is you. You are everything.”, My life answered me, my dear and I know you agree with me.
This I’m telling you because I feel you very close to me.
I fear people, but I dare them to stand even anywhere close to me. They miss the guts! But how’s it provable? Is there a need? There is a dense forest of memories and past, the result of which I talk with you and feel open to converse like that. All I know that I haven’t reach back home yet, I’m still in a tussle. And when I reach, I know I’ll have a reason to think big and do big. But my dear, when will I come back home? And what if I don’t start? What if I fail to buck up? What if I don’t be consistent enough? I guess, there shall be answers then if the time now has some answers. The answer is to come back home and complete the pending journey. So, paddle hard, and come back home. Someone’s waiting for you. Someone wants you to reach what you dream back again and again for dreams pending to be dreamt. At least.
Far way when the world seemed dying, there was hope. They say,” Losing all hope is freedom.” I say I don’t need freedom.
See ya next time!
To be continued…
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