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I find myself overly affectionate towards the slightest look from a stranger that comes within vicinity. I imagine our lives, the possibilities, the stories in my mind, making homes that aren't supposed to exist. I find myself holding on to imaginary relations with non-existent realistic people.
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I find myself giving more than I know I'll ever receive, yet I push her- the child in the cavity of my chest, to give more and more till my glass is empty while theirs was never kept there to begin with. I watch the spilt life flow from the plain surface, drop by drop fusing with the soil I built our empire over. Moistening it. Enriching it.
Once
Twice
Thrice
But then the land starts throwing it out, locking it in the open, letting any and all pollutants to take shelter in them. Ruining its fertility and leaving me barren.
I feel the loss in both my stomach and chest. I feel both butterflies and a pit right where my stomach is supposed to be. I feel both hope and pessimism.
I fold my legs underneath me and wait for the life to come dripping in. Gradually giving me more
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Then finally the land finds it in itself to let me in once more .
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Alas, I find myself repeating my cycle. My Heaven and Hell.
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The intoxication of going back and forth, the high and low, breathing from the adrenaline in my veins.
The stupidly frustrating feeling of weakness towards the fact; I can never break the birth of my very own burning, My throat aflame with the heat radiating from my chest.
Eccentric designs of forgiveness and war- a web swindled to pull the same fly of immortality in it over and over to its imminent death till it rises once again
Spiraling Spiraling Spiraling
Losing whatever focus I have as I re-opened closed doors just for the fun of it.
Just for the sake of tradition.
Just for the sake of breathing.
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