A pedestal meant to crumble

An implausible expectation

An end that is certain

In the darkest pit of my mind, i’ve come to terms with things. Things that are improbable for some, of no importance to others, or practically invisible for most.

But I have always been sensible to my surroundings, from the simplest of gestures to the intentions of people. And I have come to terms that everything is meant for an end, and failure is the most common way of closure.

How to reach closure?

That is the question swimming in my mind like a fish stuck in a fishbowl, where everyday is the same day, every view is the same, it is just a routine till the end of a lifetime. Should I resort to anger, frustration or just take it in? I have tried to bottle it all up to be honest, and that does not work. There I am, trying to unbottle in Melancholies, my sole outlet as trying to voice out will make me a villain.

Haven’t I always been the villain of my story though?


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