A dear friend from the past wrote me a note few days ago. Maybe weeks? Maybe months? I lost count- and it's natural because I am living in a daze. An email asking me how I was doing and telling me how she remembers me.
What she wrote about me felt like another person. That person, that girl died. Long ago. Today I live a life of the dead. Full of illusions and disillusions. Oh yes- I eat. I breathe. I sleep. I function to complete an operational life.
But behind the facade lies the ugly truth. Ugly, dark truth of a broken face. Dead dreams. Hopelessness. Anger. Sadness.
All things negative that I abhored earlier in my life, when I was still living now reside in me. I loathe a universe that doesnt allow me the happiness I sometimes look towards.
Maybe too much to ask? Maybe it's idiocy to sit back and expect help. Maybe I was born to be a slave. A person who does look out for everyone else, a stupid person might I add. And yet, the very few times.... the very few times I did reach out- and it can be counted on my fingers, I ALWAYS saw a back.
Maybe it's my karma. The cycle.
And yes- I know some call it indignation. Well, it is what it is.
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