Monday, April 11, 2011


The sewing needle that is teasing, but barely touching, the self inflated balloon of doubt is nothing but a tempting temptation, one we can all do without. Once the balloon bursts, there's no turning back. And the loud piercing sound that comes out resonates a wake up call, a trickling hourglass about to be broken. Because in the end a decision is relatively permanent. It's unavoidable, undeniable, and without a doubt, dodgingly doubtful.

Looking for answers where there are none is like looking for a rainbow on a dry, sunny, spring day. Beautiful at first, tiring as the night comes. Finding yourself stuck asking the already answered questions is like finding a stranded water bottle right beside a desert oasis. Useful at first, and then it's just insane.

Insanity depicted by restricted freedom. The middle metal ball in a Newton's cradle. A seesaw of equally heavy luggages. A tug of war of doubts. Followed by an uneven flow of oxygenated blood through the left ventricle of your heart.

Waiting for the flow to even out.

But what if it doesn't?
And what if it does?

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