i often sit up at night staring aimlessly at the revolving white fan, full of useless zeal and a job too worthless to be mentioned here, thinking about the hypocrisy of life. like a helpless sankrant kite, i fly and fly until someone cuts through my actions. and then, i just sit up and stare some more. i tell myself a comfortable lie in each my dream, and i almost end up living it too.
this dichotomy, the schizophrenic nature of every human pushes me to the brink of loving myself even more and loathing them too much to let them bother me. if they like being wallflowers or flies on someone’s walls, i am more than happy to let them, as long as i get to swat and pluck life out of their diseased selves. if they want to sit around in a booze-smelling lounge and crib about how amazing they are and how they are being “targeted” by other fancily immature, desperate attention seekers like them for no reason, i may like to spit at their feet and ask them to read some news on Syrians. they are the genuine sufferers, the wallflowers with burnt petals and flies with no wings. they have been forced to inhale chemicals, while you sit here with a bucket of fried chicken and gelato and a face so prettily naive, i might have to call you up at night and ask you if you like scary movies.
if you are one of those who likes to waltz to *the only exception-Paramore* while flirting with guys, innumerable to count for me. i am not saying that’s bad; for nothing is, truly. what i am saying, rather suggesting, is for you to get a life and an evolved brain along, if possible. i am, too keenly, begging you to start respecting other’s emotions and privacy, if not for your sake but for your pretty face’s and rather important balls’.
if you are also one of those, who likes to smile to people’s faces, sweet talk to them for the sake of it, turn around and say ” i don’t like her”, i honestly request you to find a speeding truck and jump at it at 12:00 in the midnight. you’ll possibly do more great to the humanity than the little loss to that truck. better, why don’t you find a truck that’s playing “balatkar” ? then, the collateral damage would indeed be collateral help, if there exists a word like that.
going a few steps forward, i am assuming you are also that kind who would judge people on their clothing, judge them better when they utter their first word, judge them further when they move their arm, and keep judging them till they are butchered in your shrunk brain; i am proud of you, my child. because i am one like you, the one who judges beyond sound reason and respectful emotions, i salute you.
i want to pat you on your back, embrace you , love you, respect you. and then, slide a slick knife down that ever-green throat of yours. i know we are all the same, you and me. then again, i would like to be a little like you right now and act all godly and divine.
i don’t remember how i slept last night. for all i remember is being too frustrated to be able to sleep and too sleepy to be able to channel out my frustration. i remember staring at the ironically jobless white fan, thinking about my day. i remember saying good night but, honestly, i don’t remember having a good night.