I had reached a point of life where I had to go back a path
for a hope. A weak beam of
faded light. Like stars, it could have been dead for ages now. But what is a man without hope. Having to
pretend that I am busy typing is just
sad. However now I can tell that I did all I could. I chose a path saying what
hit me could never have missed me. Now that I passed right beside it, he can I
know if it really missed me, maybe I am the one who missed it. So sad. So
frail. Walking down the streets by the closed
shops, stray cats a day garbage waiting
to be collected.
How come I always choose the emptiest road? How come I
always go past the crazy homeless, she was not laughing today , she was sad, I
could feel it. Or was it me who is sad? When was the last time I wrote something
depressing? Was it yesterday, or was it today? I reached home and went back
to where I came from, seeking the beacon,
fearing the loneliness. Passing me a an with a dog, two friends, a person chatting on his cell phone. Two
stray cats. Headlights of the car, two fans of the external AC unit. Always in
pairs, ALWAYS two. A pair of shoes. A pair of glasses. The two clocks I can see
from my angle in clock tower. A
family of display models in the vitrine. A thief and a policeman. Laughter's from
the ads afar. Does she feel like me?
That little girl who is begging for money while looking through the bar glass
at those getting drunk. She doesn’t know what life she is looking it, but wants
some. The laptop on my back in the hiking bag probably turned out again on its own. I can’t know why, but it is
flaming with heat, a day I am carrying it while seeking the beacon. The road is going
down still empty, but now getting dark.
The only other sole I saw, just entered building with no light. Why is there is no electricity? Will there
ever be. Suddenly, crossing the road in
front of a speeding car does not sound awfully insane.
