Heart aches
when I sense
that wealth of pent-up sadness that lies underneath what seemed so
pretty
and polished
and noisy
and happening

and alive.




Alive?





I think once upon a time the feeling would have been called bereft. Would that be an apt word, that of loss? But how do you understand loss when you don't understand what it is that you have lost? Is it a realisation that you've never had it in the first place, that it has only existed in your idealistic imagination all this while?

*shudder*

I hadn't thought of what I was saying when the words tumbled out in keyboard-taps. And now that subconscious thoughts are crytalised into words, staring back at me, I almost fear that...

No.

But you do understand that this is gonna apply to more than one person, you, who are reading this piece, and wondering. How I wish ever so often that I had the right words or means of comfort to offer, or to be able to cast spells that makes one "magically happy", a virtual (unreal!) service that Facebook had ingeniously offered.

I do remember an awful awful stretch of ---ness (for lack of a better word), then. But you all!

I don't know how to make things better, or what to say, even, but if it helps in any way, I'm here.

And things do fall into place. Or we, adaptable human beings that we are, will ourselves fall into place, in time. And I suppose this would be sufficient, at least for now, at least until the next time around.