To Myself

To myself

Dear,
This is the only time I am using ‘dear’ as you are the only existence which I love most and at the same time, as I am feeling now, I feel bored of and wish to end. There is no great loss, but series of tiny but acute failures which is pushing inch and inch forward, either to break every connection with ‘others’ or on the verge of explode and vanish. It is time, as it was before on many occasions, to put the head down and accept that you are limited, nothing special or gifted but a wayward dreamer and most important, without a useful thing called ‘luck’. Life is nothing but continued boredom when there is no central, burning passion that keeps you restless every moment. You don’t have one. Dear, understand. There is nothing wrong being like everybody else. Remember, you used to run faster among others once. You used to hate and compete everybody who seems to cross you. Where are you now? Looser, you haven’t left the race and you are dreaming to win it when you have been thrown out. Tick, tock, tick, tock, listen, madman, your time is finishing soon. Do you see a laugh on all those faces watching you sunk? Don’t you see pains that you are putting on those who put hopes on you? Your shoulders are down with continued failures to keep yourself on track. You messed up every role, kept running away, faked everybody with ephemeral promises and now, you don’t even recognize yourself.
Looser! Looser!! Down! Down!!